7 days of Lockdown
by sneekymagee
Summary: He was trained to deal with the insanity of war, not the insanity of a woman scorned. Scout/Femsniper Rated for Strong language and violence
1. Lockdown

7 DAYS OF LOCKDOWN

**SUMMARY – He was trained to deal with the insanity of war, not the insanity of a woman scorned. **

**RATING – M in the end**

**GENRE – CRACK/Drama/Romance**

**PAIRINGS – ScoutXFemale Sniper**

**LENGTH – 11 chapters**

**WARNINGS – There is a disgracful amount of bad language, A lot of violence (This is TF2 though so it's a given), and sexual references and situations as we progress.**

**DISCLAIMER - Any views or opinions of the characters are not necessarily my own. Please don't assume that they are. I am actually very open-minded, I'm just trying to characterize the characters well. That's what this story is about, **_**characterization.**_

**Author's notes: I realize that the great thing about TF2 is that it doesn't take it self seriously, and that's what makes it so cool. However this story is not like the game in that respect because it is my attempt at trying to develop some fantastic characters and build on their personalities and histories. That being said i don't want to discourage you from taking a look, as this still isn't a hugely serious story, it is a bit silly at times and a bit stupid. But i intend for it to be an interesting one with a lot of character development, history and a bit of romance in the end :) I hope you enjoy regardless :)**

The problem, he mused as he stared blankly at the slumped form, was that she was a girl.

Hulking great heavies he could handle with not even breaking a sweat, soldiers were a breeze, the moronic knuckleheads shooting those damn useless rockets every which way. Even the previous sniper was easy to detach emotions from. But a frickin' girl?

Girls were meant to shack up in houses awaiting your return and do..._girly_ things, not go around picking off grown men and swearing their heads off like sailors. She was the total opposite of every girl he'd ever imagine or even encountered, and it pissed him off. So much. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. After their little stand off of cat and mouse had been tipped by her stupid, but not unexpected (she was a girl after all), mistake, he'd been ecstatic at the opportunity to show the REDs how completely amazing he was. Not that that he needed to prove anything but they obviously needed a lesson in who was the top dog around there. He'd run faster than he'd ever done before, adrenaline and excitement coursing through his body like he'd just gone on a drug trip but when he'd snuck into her little hideout, he'd nearly fallen over. Who replaces a man with a little girl? Official proof the REDs were totally off their rocker. And even more annoyingly the fight that followed had left him sore. He wouldn't ever admit it to anyone, barely even himself, but she packed a dangerous swing.

In the end, he had been the stronger, better of the two (which was a given) and had landed a fair amount of damage. Her face looked like that time his brothers had busted him up for hitting on his brother's girlfriend. (He hadn't known!) In short, she looked horrible. _Not _that he cared mind you, but come on, she was ruining the view...and maybe he felt sightly bad in hindsight for beating up a girl, but not enough to even be worth mentioning! He was still number one, and number one looks out for one person; number one.

His mind in overdrive, he ran a frustrated hand through his cropped hair, with no one to yell at, nothing to do in the dank hall he was beginning to loose his marbles. He was a man of action. There was no balls to throw, nothing to yell at, he couldn't do any decent running (unless he lapped around the small, dank room like a million times) and his arm hurt. He pouted. What he wouldn't give for a medic right now. He sighed and slumped down at the table sneaking a glare at the unconscious girl. He paused a moment.

Frickin' girl.

He was a simple guy, freakin' amazing, but simple. But not stupid, well not really. He did have a nasty habit of leaping before looking but the way he saw it it only made him more appealing. He was straight forward, that's what he was. If he thought something should happen, he made it clear. He liked it when it was about being the fastest, catching the bad guys and making them pay. Black and white. One for one and none for all...or something. But even he had to admit the girl infront of him didn't look like that bad guy he was so used to totaling. He knew he should just boink her and be done but she was a freakin' girl! And not just a girl, almost an old lady, probably not that far from his mom's age, he reckoned. He might have been a soldier but he drew the line at women and possibly children and most definitely women who looked like they'd given birth to children. He let out a frustrated cry and knocked the table restlessly. He couldn't mess her up he decided, so he tied her up.

She groaned sluggishly and he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Perhaps a little crude on his part using her red shirt like that, there was just nothing else to use. Honest, well not really. Ok he did use it so he could cop an eyefull,** fine**. But it was nice to finally have something pretty to look at after all the months in the base. Sure it may be a little too lewd, especially given her assumed age but she was freakin' RED for christ's sake. He didn't care what happened to REDs.

_8 hours earlier_

The dust settled slowly as she scanned the barren landscape for lingering signs of movement. She knew that damn scout had nicked off somewhere, the only problem was in fact _where_. God damn it he was too fucking _crafty_. She resented that, resented the fact that he couldn't stay still and let her pick him off like his idiotic comrades. It had been a long day and she'd slipped in concentration, unusual for her but it was the second week in this godforsaken landscape, Australian heat she could handle but this industrial clog was doing her head in. He'd made his move as she'd slipped slightly, which consequently meant he must have known where she was. And with him being as crafty as a half rate spy.

_That _was bad.

"Bloody BLUs," the gun was removed from the window dislodging a fair load of dust from the blind, covering her gloves. She coughed slightly, stretching; she heard a nick in her back crack. "Bloody BLUs and their bloody scouts." She didn't care much for anything except her family but she cared about her job and she'd fucked it up. He could be anywhere now damn it. Less than two hours into the shift and she'd already messed up. She _hated _that. She was the patient one and _she'd_ lost! "Now I have to fucking move. Fuck." She said it once more for good measure, it made her feel better. "Fuck." She turned, suddenly aware of a presence behind her. "Fuck!"

A baseball bat swung inches from her nose as she stepped back frantically. God he _was_ fast_._

"Fuck's right ya dumb broad," he swung again, she sidestepped quickly until she came up against the wall. Realizing she'd left her knife _and _gun on the other side of the room, she tried to calm herself. She wasn't a close range fighter, well not especially anyway, _jarate_ was useful but not exactly her favorite way of picking someone off. She was a girl for christ's sake, it was unbelievably hard to piss in a bottle if you were a girl. That paired with the fact that she was exponentially less toned than him there was no way she was a match for this guy without some sort of weapon. The scout grinned, aware of her plight. "Heh, Looking for something?" And he kicked it all out the window.

Between holding amazement at the fact that he'd managed to get them both through the small opening and a loud _Bastard! _Echoing in her mind. She reminded herself that if she wanted to live to see the next hour she'd darn better get her act together and total this guy_. _Glancing round quickly with the slight diversion, she tried to see something, _anything_, to use against him. Amazingly she found and fumbled with a loose plank nailed against a window, it broke free with a crunch. Swinging it quickly it connected (thankfully) with the wood of the Scouts own bat before it could with her face. By rights something should have given but somehow she found herself locked in arms with the pubescent moron.

"Ya surprisingly slick for a girly gunman," he sneered, inches from her face. "Wouldn ta expected you ta even fight back." She grimaced, feeling her arms slowly giving way. It was a flight or fight decision, she didn't feel particularly enthusiastic about either option. Either she'd die trying to kill the wanker or she'd loose every shred of the delicate reputation she'd tried to build as a brave, no holds back kinda woman. She gritted her teeth and racked her brains for a plan. Maybe she could just re-spawn and headshot him later, but still, the feeling of loosing to the wanker...and re-spawn wasn't exactly pleasant. Something was going to have to give, and soon. "Sniper-sa usually the easiest to take down once ya get them cornered. And an old lady sniper, ida though you'd be crying ya little eyes out by now" She frowned trying to shuffle her legs into a more reasonable position.

"Perhaps," she replied through gritted teeth. "But personally I always felt that ya Scouts were the stupidest of the lot." Just as her arms almost gave way a foot shot out and struck gold.

"Respect your elders wanker."

He fell to the floor in a heap and she wasted no time in stepping past him hastily and sprinted down the hall. She _had_ to retain some advantage. It was a dire situation, if the scout was in the base no doubt there would be other BLU bastards. There was also a strange smell in the corridors. Smoke? No, some kind of gas. She stumbled round a tight corner. Forget about a battle. Shit! Where was everyone? The place should be teeming with comrades and enemies alike. Her answer came as she tripped over a very much beaten and maimed Engineer lying bloodied beside a pile of destroyed sentry.

"Oh Fuck this shit." They were clearly at a bigger disadvantage than she had anticipated, it was this smog and stress they'd been under she was sure. But there was no time to dwell on the elder man, another day another death after all. She heard the scout curse again and saw him sprinting clumsily after her. Even with his balls out of action he was still as fast as hell.

"Bitch!" Turning a corner quickly, feet slipping slightly on the blood stained floor she found her way somehow into the base mess hall. Good, she could use that to her advantage…somehow. Shit, she was no good at close range. Tables and chairs stared up at her. Mabye she you throw one at him? She grabbed the closest chair and fleeing quickly, jumped up on top of one of the long tables, she turned, brandishing the chair clamped firmly in her hand. The scout followed her path, hopping up gracefully and surprisingly calmly, repeating her own motions with his bat.

"Well well seems the sniper has more balls than brains," he stepped closer.

"At least i have balls," she nodded to his groinal area. _Shit _that sounded a bit weird. But hell anything to dent his masculine pride, at that point she was desperate. He raised an eyebrow and continued gruffly.

"Pcht, whatever, but you know what bitch? I always thought that Snipers were the idiots. Sure they're good shots but what the hell are they good for apart from that? Nuthin' that's what." He lunged at her with the bat in tow obviously a man of action. She didn't appreciate that and tried to block it with the chair but pain burst from behind her eyes in bright bursts as she hit the linoleum floor hard, chair crumbling under the weight of the heavy wanker. More pain in her cheek as he hit her with a hard fist. And again in her eye. _FUCK IT_ _Fight back!_ She reached out and grabbed something, his throat, squeezing as hard as she could. The pain increased as she felt her head being pummeled against the floor in an attempt to distract her chokehold. The throbbing lingered as two hands grabbed her wrists instead, in a mixture of pain and desperation. Her vision was a watery mix of blood pooling in her right eye and tears in the left. Suddenly her hold retreated as his strength got the best of her.

"Mutha Fucker," he weezed and fell back from his straddling position. Completely spent from the lack of oxygen. She was surprised; surely he wouldn't leave himself so open? Beggars cant be choosers though and she scrambled on top of him placeing a knee at his throat. She shoved his bat away, and it clattered across the floor. With her whole weight behind her and with him unarmed she grinned triumphantly. Aw yeah she was good. In the midst of her, probably she'd reflected later, hasty sense of victory the room went red and alarm bells sounded.

"_Base breach: Foreign gas detected in the vicinity. Lock down initiated."_

"What the hell?" She started in total suprise. There was a wheezy chuckle. And she squinted down at the choking scout. "What the hell did you do?" She knew it was impossible for him to have done anything in his current position but she chose to ignore that. Still, recollections of the earlier gassy smell brought her mind to a realization. She whook him by the collar, smacking his head on the floor, he groaned. "What did you DO!"

"Gas bombs," he confirmed, wheezing with a grin on his face. "Engineer set them to release after I'd placed them, unfortunately you delayed me for too long." His face was a mixture of gleeful insanity and panic at the fact that he was stuck here now. "We figured your hoity toity security would lock down at the first sign of gas. We were right." He added. "We're stuck dumbass, you'd just betta hope none of the gas got in here" She growled and glanced around. Knowing he was right.

"What kind of gas?" He smirked. She narrowed her eyes and put more pressure on his neck.

"Hey! Hey," He flailed around until she let up a bit. "Geez, it's just sum chocking gas. Now get off me, I'm not gonna do anything." She laughed disbelievingly at his hasty retreat.

"Oh right so I'm just going to let you go after you pummeled my face in? Never would have thought you the surrendering type." he frowned.

"I'm not surrendering bitch, it's either you rot here or you let me go and we can finish this on a level ground. I'm not one for smashing up chicks, and God knows you need a handicap." Not one for smashing up chicks? Her face beg to differ. _Arrogant wanker, _she could totally take him, and she had. Sure her face and leg and arm and every bone ever discovered hurt but she was still alive right? That had to count for something.

"Oh yeah that would explain why you're currently at my mercy." She told him so and rolled her eyes.

"Ya think?" In a move she would never get her head round he flipped her over unceremoniously and panted from the quick movement.

"The fuck?" She struggled unsuccessfully against his hold. God damn it why was he so _fast_! Why had she dropped her guard for even that tiny moment. She tried kneeing him again. He tutted.

"Not fallin' for that again, you have no chance darlin'." She wrinkled her nose in annoyance at the fact that he was correct and he sidled further up her waist in triumph. His hand ended up groping under her right breast, not, she knew, by accident. He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows, squeezing lewdly. Fury danced in her face and in a last desperate fling at freedom she painfully swung her fist back, groped onto a chair leg and smacked it into his face. More shocked than anything she jumped slightly when he slumped onto her torso surrounded by chair debris. It took her a moment to realize she'd somehow knocked him out. She shoved him off her body and stood up unsteadily.

"Lighweight."

And fainted.

**Stupid story I know D:**

**REVIEWS=LOVE**


	2. Day 1: Mommas boys and mediguns

**Oh God there's more D: Well the first chapter actually got a surprisingly good response so luckily for you guys my brain decided to rebel against itself and pump out another chapter.**

**Enjoy (if you can) (Reviews=Love)**

**CHAPTER RATING –T**

**WARNINGS – LOTS of bad language, I mean it, like every few sentences, violence and a sexual references. (Should this be M perhaps? hmmmm...;)**

**NOTE – This story is romantic yes but in the end chapters, I just thought I should point that out, my main challenge is to characterize these two characters in a way that they can actually be romantically involved. Because at this point there is no chance. It's probably going to be a mind fuck till then.**

**DISCLAIMER - Any views or opinions of the characters are not necessarily my own. I DO NOT condone any sort of violence against women (or men) but violence and TF2 go had in hand and if I'm going to have Snipergirl taken seriously she needs to be treated the same as the guys. I'm just trying to characterize the characters well. That's what this story is about, **_**characterization.**_

* * *

Thin tendrils of pain snuck around behind her eyes as she felt herself being hoisted up onto a chair…Blackness faded around the edges of her squinting vision as a hot breath near her ear panted heavily ... Her mind swirled with a dirty mix of colours and emotions.

_Paul…?_

_She felt her arms being pulled back awkwardly. Her shirt fell off, wait that wasn't right. She registered the whisper of a frown gracing her face but she couldn't really feel anything. She tried to move._

"_Hold still."_

_Her mind went blank._

* * *

The pain in her head had subsided faintly as she blinked back into consciousness from her half dream like stupor. Where the bloody hell was she? There had been recollections of a nightmare cross her mind but that had been years ago. And it was bright, too fucking bright. A hand waved in her face.

"Hey the sniper bitch's awake." _Oh fuck._ Registering her situation with despair, she let out a string of curses and glared at the guy sitting casually on her other side of the table. It hadn't been the way she'd planned for it to happen, stuck in here, not that she had even had time to plan anything. She was not a stupid woman, not by any shot. She prided herself on her ability to think clearly and fight efficiently and on par with the other men on her team. But sitting there she felt her resolve slipping. She couldn't be fucking bothered with this and certainly not with a wanker like him, but as it often happens everything was going topside.

"I can't fucking believe this," she growled. She met his eyes as he glanced over at her and her curses. "I cant _fucking_ believe this!" The air was stale in the mess hall, and her voice reverberated with an echoic snarl. He raised an eyebrow.

"What's not to believe? Were stuck ya dumbass." His face told her that after the initial battle rush had worn of the harsh reality had sunk in and he was as annoyed about it as she was. She did, however, take satisfaction in the fact that he'd managed to get stuck in this mess with her. Indeed he was still here so that meant there wasn't a way out of lockdown. She vaguely wondered why he hadn't killed her, she would have done him but there you go, something she'd have to investigate. It was a fucked up mess enough by itself but if she was going down, he would be too. She'd blast his head off before her could shout 'boink' if he'd left her here. Although she probably would try regardless, it went with the position. She noticed a large purple bruise was forming on his high cheekbone and hands shaped bruises were starting to show around his neck. Satisfaction coursed through her at her own mark of strength, but she hated to think what her face looked like right now. She glared hard at his face as she struggled against the bindings. He spoke again, answering her unspoken complaint, his voice still raspy from the earlier scuffle.

"It's not like ya can blame me dumbass, we _are_ on different sides after all." She grimaced, he was right she couldn't. It was just luck he'd regained consciousness before she had. But still. "You REDS are so dumb, I mean I'm stuck but the rest a ya crew are probably goners. And I got tha last one tied up." He chuckled at his clear superiority. She wished he'd shut his pie hole. He continued. "I mean you like didn't even see it comin'!" He shook his head in amusement.

"Are you always this annoying?"

He blinked at her and grinned. "Tetchy much?" He chuckled again. "Cant say I blame ya, it's be pretty pissed is if was tied up." He examined his hand, the bandage missing, a large cut across the back. "How long does ya base use lockdown for anyway?" She pondered her answer as he stared expectantly at her, it would seem only one of them had aid any attention in basic training. She could tell him but then she be being nice to him. She chose the childish path.

"Dunno," she sniffed with distain at his scoff, trying to ignore him, maybe he'd go away, _yeah right_. He sat there for a while examining her then curiosity clearly got the better of him and he stood up and went to find what she assumed was the base manual. Muttering something about "lying dumbass" and "freakin' REDs" all the way. It was a minute before he found it and another minute before he found the page, strolling casually back to her chair. She just beginning to enjoy the silence, imagining she was on a beach somewhere and not feeling pain in every bone but he had to ruin it.

"Seven days?" He appeared suddenly in front of her_. Fast_, she reminded her shocked brain. "I'm stuck here for seven mutha fuckin days?" It wasn't a shock, she'd known but she felt some satisfaction looking at his disbelieving face, _turns out your amazing triumph is tainted sir_.

"Indeed." His face contorted into some kind of mix of anger and desperation. He slammed the book down onto the table.

"I'm stuck here with a stupid Dumbass _woman_ from the stupid dumbass _RED team_ for _seven_ stupid dumbass _days_."

"That's about the jist of it yeah," she wasn't going to admit to him she was just as pissed. But she did jump slightly when he kicked a chair clean across the room. She was tempted to point out that the chair was an innocent bystander in this whole event but it was perhaps to early for sarcasm. Slumping down in a (different) chair he ran a hand through his hair.

"Seven days…" he slammed his fist again. Admittedly at first she thought his little tantrum was justified, she'd probably have broken something too if her hands hadn't been tied, but she felt slightly superior knowing it wasn't her who had lost control for long enough to create a giant crack in the wooden table, at least her hand wasn't bruised like his probably was. He broke out in rant again. It was getting tiring. "Seven days in a room with an old lady and nothing to do and nothing fun and no baseball. No violence, no batting, no nothing! Jesus." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. His eyes snapped onto hers. "This is your fault you know." Her mouth dropped open.

"_My_ fault? I didn't set the bloody gas bombs!" He slammed his hand down onto the table again, third time's the charm. He swore rubbing the back. She almost winced for him. _Almost_. He pointed a bruised finger at her.

"Yeah but you kicked me in the gonads, that was underhand, I woulda made it out if you hadnta done that!" She rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Well excuse me if I didn't feel like dying at that point, honestly it comes and goes, you must have caught me at a bad time. God ya wanker." It was never too early for sarcasm. They both quieted down.

"I still think it's your fault."

"Oh SHUT. UP!"

They sat in silence dwelling on the situation for a minute. After establishing that he wasn't going to smack her round the head or accuse her of wanting to live again, she finally decided to struggle half-heartedly at the bindings against her wrist, they were weird and oddly shaped, she looked to the side to get a glance at them. It took her a moment to register.

He'd fucking tied her up with her shirt.

Bloody motherfucking… She rattled off a long list of curses, it seemed to cheer up the little rat sitting opposite monumentally as he openly laughed triumphantly at her realization. _Fucking BLUS_.

"I forgot to mention that," he pondered her anger for a moment looking a lot happier. "At least I have a nice view," she glared at him as hard as she could. Fuck it, she was registering now exactly how cold and shivering she was with only her sleeveless jacket retaining any of her modesty. How she had not noticed before she didn't know. Not that shecared normally, hell, you live in barrack with 8 other men for 2 years and you learn to ignore the testosterone. So what if they all think you're a floozy and Sam's constantly trying it on? But God damn it, this guy was a fucking BLU and she really was not in the mood to have her bra on display to the perverted Jackass. Plus it was fucking _cold_! "I really didn't want to use your shirt," he remarked slyly reading her mind. "But there wasn't much else." She raised an eyebrow.

"What you couldn't have used _your _shirt?" He smirked demonically at her.

"Never thought ta that." He clearly had. He stuck a look of mock bashfulness on his face. "But I don't want you ogling my manly chest, have some modestly you harlot." She fumed dangerously

"Well maybe you could get past your rampant libido and get a blanket or something." His gaze didn't falter.

"There's no blankets in here."

She sighed in desperation; "there's some materials in the cupboard over there." He didn't move. "Damn it, you bastard! Get me a fucking blanket!" He'd clearly been hoping for her to say that, because a gleam crossed his eye and his mouth tightened devilishly. "What will you do for me?" She kicked his chair clumsily and he toppled over.

"I _wont _kick your ass that's what I'll do," he peeled himself up off the floor in a mixture of embarrassment and anger and rounded violently on her, his voice hard in annoyance, the realization his fate still raw. It wasn't a joke anymore.

"Listen you dumb broad, don't you go around rilin' me up ya hear? You couldn't kick my ass in a million years, you're useless nothing, not even worth being alive." He took a breath. "You're a stupid _girl_ and girls aint no good for anything 'cept cooking and sexing." Her eyes narrowed menacingly and he smirked as if he'd just said the most profound truth in history. She took a shaky breath, trying with every fiber in her body to relax and not shout her mouth out at him. She let the breath out and regarded him carefully, tensing her shoulders slightly. _Arrogant __Wanker_. She hated the fact that she was basically at his mercy. She wanted to explode at him, wanted to fucking blast his brains out but that wouldn't achieve anything in her current state, no she had to be efficient and patient, wear him down. Like she did everyday in battle, wait till he made the mistake this time. She had to calm down, no more outbursts. Use her brains, she smirked, at least there she had an advantage. Deciding she needed to confuse him, she smiled as prettily as she could. He was clearly so fucking arrogant, but if she could boil it down to a battle of wills and wits and if she could just get him to _question himself_ maybe she'd get out of here alive.

"And yet I'm still here," she smiled slightly at the look of annoyance that crossed his face. He let out a snort of air.

"You're not worth it." She raised an eyebrow as he turned away from her.

"You mentioned that yes."

"Girls aren't worth it, stupid broads, they're all useless." She vaguely remembered something about the report she'd been forced to read on BLU.

"You tell your mother that?" He blinked and turned sharply back to face her, the smirk literally sliding from his face. _Loose nerve_ she realized, _Eureka_. Then he glowered at her.

"Don't bring my momma into this bitch," his voice lowered dangerously. She smiled gently, not breaking eye contact.

"Mother's boy huh? Something doesn't add up" He stepped closer dangerously like a predator hunting its prey. "You obviously love your mother and yet…"

"I mean it RED, shut your damn trap," She looked up at his blue eyes, icy with warning. "You don't know what you're talking about" She recognized the signs of fury but continued.

"So I guess your mother is as useless as me then," the look in his face was setting off alarm bells everywhere in her brain but she continued paying them no heed and took another breath.

"She aint good for nothing except cooking and sexing."

She didn't even have a second to register anything before a sharp pain erupted from her left eye. Her head hit the floor a second later and she felt his body get on top of her chest and push her down violently in to the chair a second after that. In retrospect the 'riling him up by using her amazing wits' plan was probably a bit dodgy, maybe she'd taken it too far and overestimated his anger management, maybe she shouldn't have taken it to that level and talked about his mother that way, but in the end she stood by what she had pointed out to him. She just hoped for the sake of her broken cheekbone that he got the point. It was crucial. In between the bright spikes of pain in her vision she saw his face looming over her, a look of pure fury gracing his fine boned features. She_ really_ hoped he'd gotten the point.

"Say another word about my mumma bitch and I swear I'll kill you right here right now." His face was inches from hers; she could feel the fury radiating from every pore. "The only reason you're still alive is cause I don't take down prisoners. I take down people that can fight back." He was chocking her now, either by accident or he'd been lying about taking down prisoners. His hand let up just as her vision started going fuzzy. He slid off her chest in a surprisingly graceful manner and with one hand yanked the chair back upright.

"You realize right?" She rasped, still intent on getting her point across. "You can't generalize if you don't expect everyone to be included. How can you tell me all girls are useless and then get up in arms about your mother, who, I may point out incase you missed it, is of the female persuasion "

"Shut the fuck up," despite the language the tone of his voice changed dramatically, less blind fury more icy warning . He stared at his feet for a second and turning sharply, stalking off in the direction of the kitchen. She was surprised at the hasty back down, especially on the edge of his impending 'triumph'. But this was good, he was confused. Her eyes followed him, vaguely registered relief at the luck of getting stuck somewhere with food, but it was dampened when he started chucking cans from the fridge. He was clearly still pissed, and in all fairness, rightfully so. Deciding on a course of action she chose to leave his mother behind and ignore the increasingly irrational but not unexpected actions of said scout. She probed further determined to win this battle.

"I'm not alive because you don't kill prisoners, you can't expect me to believe that." He didn't pause in his can campaign.

"Are you always such a scootch?" he said sharply reminiscent of her earlier comment. She got the hint. And ignored it.

"What the hell's a 'scootch'? And i'm a woman thank you very much not a 'girl." She shook her head as he refused to answer. "You're a bloody bash happy psycho how can you expect me to believe you don't kill prisoners?" His shoulders visibly tensed.

"Gezuz H Christ I never though a woman girl could get on ma nerves so much in such a short time." He frowned. "Why couldn't you be normal and cute and young like other girls." She let out a very un ladylike snort.

"If I was cute and normal I'd be dead in this job and if i was young i wouldn't even _have_ the job." She pointed out. "Unlike you Scouts, the art of hunting takes some degree of experience."There was a pause as he considered this jive with tight lipped annoyance and she continued. "So now that we've established I am neither of those things please tell me why I'm not dead." He groaned.

"Just leave it alone dumbass." She ignored him again.

"It? What is It?" He ceased his spring-cleaning momentarily and turned. Clearly he'd been expecting her to say something else about his mother. She would but not now.

"FINE." He resigned, "It?" He rested his hands on his knees. "Ya wanna know what _it _is?" She nodded slowly. "_It_ is being stuck in this freakin' base, and you freakin' REDs dealing the low blows and always bringin up my mother." They both knew what he was referring to. "_IT_ is you and ya…ya _ladyness._" He waved a hand towards her form. She blinked, caught off guard. She replied evenly.

"My ladyness."

"Yeh," he grumbled, turning back to the fridge. "You're a girl, lady, whatever." She retained some ground, her mind working fast.

"I _am_ a _woman_, yes." He glared at her and ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time.

"And you have lady bits and a lady face and…" She could have sworn he turned red. _Bingo._ He really wasn't that hard to nut out after his 'punch now ask questions later' façade was lifted.

"You can't beat me up because I'm a girl, woman rather, and even though you're bash happy you couldn't possibly beat up a woman." She finished for him. He looked peeved when he turned back to her, standing up straight.

"I wouldn't put it exactly like that," he flipped open a can of beans, clattering around for a pan presumably and she raised an eyebrow.

"How would you put it?" He found a pan and poured the beans into it.

"Something more on the lines of you're defenseless, and tied up and even if you were a man I wouldn't stab you in the back. Well probably not." He added and slammed the spoon he was presumably going to use to stir beans with on the table. "Like I said before, I'm not a spy dumbass and I have standards." He pointed a finger at her. "I've read that Geneva thing you know, i'm educated same as anyone else, more probably." He squared his shoulders.

She blinked. Okay, that was not what she'd expected. She'd though it would just be his momma's boy complex acting up but apparently it was more than that. He was probably lying though, she thought. He'd take out a child while it was sleeping most likely. He _was _a BLU after all, and that Geneva convention bull, unlikely. He just didn't want to admit he was without a shred of honor or decency. She paused her revelations, but if he was lying it still didn't answer why she was alive.

"I guess I have to take your word for it." She mumbled skeptically, rolling her eyes. He turned back to his beans. She started when a there was a flash of flame.

"Geezuz, you snipers are jumpy or what?" He snapped noticing her reaction; the flash as it turned out came from the stove. She made a face and blinked at the flickering light, studying the way it flitted lightly over the bottom of the pan for a minute. She wanted to say she'd had some great epiphany staring at it but it was actually very boring watching flames, there was no insight, pity she had been so close to nutting him out. She sighed and they sat and stirred beans in silence for a few minutes. Struggling she tried to find someway of loosening her binds. Unfortunately the Scout seemed to have had some sort of knot ting training because they were pulled about as tight as her neck muscles. She tried to stretch her neck a bit but that too was fruitless.

_7 days._

7 days tied up with a maladjusted wanker, she'd go mental. He was so violent and psychotic and fucking sexist and yet he went up in arms about his mother for God's sake. It didn't work. She sighed supposing she should be grateful he hadn't killed her but it was hard. Mentally cursing every god in existence and then some, she let out a shrill shriek when suddenly something attacked her face.

It was a blanket.

"Don't just assume I'm an asshole dumbass." And with that he sat down grumpily and scoffed his beans in a way that would make both their mothers cringe. At least she assumed he was, she didn't think she should rile him up more by pointing out she could no longer see or breath very well. It was probably part of his plan anyway.

* * *

She was right. She was _freakin'_ right. He sat on the edge of the seat wearily. This was fucked up. Less than 4 hours with the broad and she was already traumatizing him. Not to mention the beans tasted like they belonged in some kind of dog food. Knowing the REDs it probably was dog food. He chuckled, it was so appropriate. But in all honesty the dog beans were the least of his problems. Glancing over at the napping lady he sighed, fidgeting impatiently with the end of his necklace. After he's almost smothered her she'd fallen asleep awkwardly, the blanket repositioned around her person. He'd been sitting for hours bored to tears, too tired to even sleep let alone move. He missed the medigun.

There was a soft groan and he turned to examine the annoying lady. She had been dancing with death that one. No man had ever insulted his mother and gotten away with it, granted her cheekbone was probably broken but usually they ended up dead in some alley. And she was _right_. It was because she was a girl, woman, lady, whatever. True he hadn't been lying when he said he had standards. Not like freakin' spies. He'd give anything to get rid of those worthless assholes. Rubbed him the wrong way every time. But _mainly_ she was correct; it was because she was a lady. A freakin' lady. He'd never get over it he knew and he'd be lying if he hadn't noticed that in more ways than one. She was completely and totally off limits though, he didn't sleep with harlots, nor Reds, nor ladies old enough to be his mom probably. Not that he'd actually ever slept with anyone before. He would _never EVER _tell her that though. It was probably his only shortcoming. 21 years old and he'd never done a girl. But it wasn't his fault damn it! He'd enlisted straight out of high school and you know how many girls are in the army? None, that's how many. He didn't _want_ to be a virgin it just…happened. God knows his brothers were constantly on his back about it; he nearly had to strangle the spy when he'd told everyone (Reason number 10293 why he hated them). F_reakin_'_ spies_. It would be too embarrassing if she found out, not that he cared what she thought. But he knew she'd gloat about it for the next 7 days and then some. Probably tell the administrator, and _that_ would be a disaster.

He let his forehead touch the table and groaned. Fuck this was getting weird. He had too much time to _think_ about things. He _hated_ thinking. Why couldn't he be stuck with someone _fun?_ Freakin' _Bruno_ would be more fun, sure he was psychotic gay medic but at least they could have had a laugh together. His last girlfriend was 'Tubby Tammy' the soft-spoken best friend of girl he actually liked in 12th grade (_That_ had been a disaster waiting to happen) even she would have been more of a laugh than this. He glared pointlessly at Sniper-lady from his position. Even when she was asleep she was pissing him off. He'd only known the bitch for a day and she was already messing with him. His eyes moved over her form and he stared at her bra poking out under the cotton of the blanket. Blinking he refused to acknowledge the heat in his cheeks. So what that he was attracted to her body? That was it, end of story, he hated _her,_ but he'd have to be blind not to appreciate the pair of suprisingly well formed breasts in front of him (for an older lady). (Not to mention her toned stomach) But for god's sake anything would be attractive to him right now, the _sandvich_ was starting to look attractive (Which was extremely alarming), _Bruno_ was starting to look attractive and that was almost even more alarming. Not that there was anything wrong with _that_ but still… He was a straight man no matter what the annoying medic insinuated. And men needed sexual release. It was a fact. If there was one thing his brothers had taught him it was to never be ashamed of trying to get in a girl's pants.

(Not that he ever had)

He slammed his fist down in annoyance at his rebellious mind rattling the half empty bowl of beans. He really needed to stop doing that; his fingers were broken for sure. But he had excellent pain tolerance (one of his many talents) so it wasn't that much of a big deal. Really he was practically indestructible. (Another one of his talents) Really? What girl wouldn't want a piece of him? **He was a fucking Adonis.** He ran a hand under his cap for the umpteenth time, long since having discarded his broken radio, and threw it aside. He was bored and this entire sitting around business was making him _think_. He _hated _thinking. He needed action. He needed Excitement. He smacked his hand on the table again.

He needed pain killers.

He got up sluggishly and shuffled over to the kitchenette, his muscles were starting to give out without the medic. Being without it's regenitive powers really made him appreciate them. Opening a couple of draws unsuccessfully, there was a soft cough,

"4th cupboard on the right," he glanced at the sniper who was eyeing him questionably. He pointed to a blue door. She nodded. Inside there was a large plastic tub marked, _medical._ He assumed that was right. Her carried it over to the table painfully. They both stared at it for a while before he asked lowly;

"Um do ya know anything about medicine?" He avoided her eyes as she regarded him curiously.

"Yeah but why should I help you?" she raised an eyebrow, a questioning look in her eyes. His lips tightened in annoyance. Damnit. He racked his brains for an idea.

"I'll let ya off the chair for an hour." She scoffed at his proposal and grinned.

"Let me off the chair forever."

"No chance! 2 hours."

"A day."

"4 hours and I'l give ya some food."

She clearly hadn't thought of that. Considering it, she bit her lip.

"Deal. Four hours for anytime after I fix your hand and I get some food." She thought for a minute. "And water," she added as an afterthought. "But I get my hands unbound for an hour while I eat." He scoffed.

"If ya think I'm fallin' for that you've got another thing comin'," She chuckled.

"There's nothing to fall for wanker, what am I going to do, kill you with ma blanket and sit here watching you decompose for 7 days?" He narrowed his eyes and snorted with disbelief. Like _that_ would ever happen but even if she was a girl he really didn't feel like getting another bruise from her.

"Like ya could," he clicked his tongue arrogantly. A pause. His hand did _really _hurt. "Fine." She rolled her eyes at his hesitation. "And if you try anything I'll gag you too."

"Ooh kinky," she smiled openly, amused. Ignoring the involuntary blush creeping over his ears with a fierce determination he stood up and went to rearrange her hands. They were bruised badly and he could tell she had a few broken digits too.

"Ya can fix ya own hands up too if ya like," he retied the shirt around her wrists so there was enough room for her to work.

"Hey I thought I was gonna be unbound!" She wined. He rolled his eyes

"That was for dinner dumbass, I'm not unbinding ya when you have ma hands at ya mercy, but like I said ya can do ya own hands, I think that's more than fair." She laughed dryly.

"If life was fair we wouldn't be here" He nodded in reluctant agreement and she smiled gleefully. "Oh wow you just agreed with me."

"Fuck off." She grinned again. He reached round her and for extra precaution he tied her waist to the chair. Like he said, he didn't feel like getting more bruises. She'd probably tie _him_ to the chair and torture _him_ given half the chance; he wouldn't put it past her. Not that she'd be able to do much but still. She made a small noise of protest when he pulled it tight. He loosened it and vaguely wondered why he was being so nice; probably because she was a lady he resigned, annoyed. It just kept coming back to that didn't it? He needed to get his head in the right place. She was a RED not a lady. A RED. He _hated _REDs. He repeated it to himself as he sat back down facing her. She was already pulling out piles of what looked like junk to him. He hoped it was pain-removing junk.

"Lets see your hand," he held it out to her. She took it surprisingly gently; he'd half expected her to yank his fingers off. "You see what you need is a splint to hold it in place so it can set." He frowned.

"I didn't ask you to teach me, I asked you to fix it." She stared at him annoyed.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you wanted to remain an ignorant jerk," she dropped his hand on the table, he sneered.

"Just fix my hand bitch."

So she did, quietly and efficiently. No nonsense. _Like a good girl_. He was relieved. Maybe everything could go back to normal and she'd stop messing with him. One minute all nice, the next bashing his mom. Maybe he'd gag her anyway, it's not like she could stop him. He winced as she pulled a bandage tight staring at him intently. It was almost as if she had read his thoughts. Creepy. She looked back down at his hand.

As it turned out, all four of his fingers were broken and his thumb was dislocated. She fixed it with some sort of mini Medigun. The other digits were set and healed. He stretched his arm gently as she tried in vain to patch up her own fingers. It didn't look very successful. She made a small noise of frustration and mumbled out a few choice curses. He sighed.

"Here," she winced as he yanked her hand towards him. He went about copying her moves with quiet instruction. It was the longest he'd sat silent and still. In the end it looked like a 4 year old had gone crazy with masking tape but it was acceptable. She sniffed and rubbed a wet cloth gently over her bruised face.

"The medigun needs a while to recharge before you can use it again," she explained. "But it should fix up your face fine after that. " He nodded, and eyed her suspiciously, she was being nice again, and that was a sure sign something was awry. She frowned then coughed conspicuously.

"Thank you," he strained to hear the phrase she had mumbled reluctantly.

"Did you just _thank_ me?" He leaned in close as if to be in the big conspiracy. She narrowed her eyes.

"Is that a problem?" She curved an eyebrow. He leaned back and stretched his Adonis arms.

"Not really, I was just surprised you could be so well mannered and feminine s' all"

"Wanker."

**A/N EDITED: Took out some of my psycho babble. This story is probably very different to other TF2 Stories as I'm trying to be very realistic with the emotions and drives of the characters, I hope I'm doing ok but if there's anything you want to clarify please feel free to ask. But everything written has specific though behind it.**

**Stupid idea D: Stupid, stupid idea…which you all thought was ok :3 Ha ha Thanks actually for liking it. Also I've just realized how hard it's going to be making an interesting story with two characters in one room for 7 chapters. D:**

**Anyway I will also reveal their names and yes they will be relevant to the time period ;) And I have actually planned this story LEGASP! So I can definitely say it will be 11 chapters.**

**And I will be drawing fan art for this story so watch out for it.**

**Please review :)**


	3. Day 2: A Cat in the cupboard

**CHAPTER RATING –T**

**WARNINGS – LOTS of bad language, toilet talk a few sexual references and disturbing 'cat bonding'.**

* * *

_**February 23rd, 1965, Boston, Massachusetts**_

"_Thomas James King, get your skinny caboose over here this instant or God help me I'll knock you all the way back to your childhood!" The dark haired woman placed her hands on her hips menacingly as the taller boy stopped, placed his suitcase on the tiled floor and sighed._

"_Jesus mom you don't have ta shout," he avoided her eyes as the woman frowned threateningly._

"_Don't 'Jesus mom" me young man, I carried you for 9 months, raised you for 18 years and I expect some respect and so does tha good Lord." She beckoned him closer and grasped his shoulders tightly. "Sneeking out without giving your old mum a goodbye, what kind of son have I raised? Now let me look at you." Despite her annoyance her eyes shined with tears as she observed him critically. She reached up to adjust the tie on the boy's uniform, patting down the collar. There was a pause. And a sniff._

"_Mom," he whispered quietly. "I don't have to go." The annoyance dissipated rapidly as she hushed him firmly._

"_No, you're not going to stay with me Tommy," she moved closer and leant her head on his chest. "I know this is what you want. Ever since the accident with your father, well, you need to get away. I'll be fine." She sighed and laughed weakly. "Besides you've been obsessing over those toy soldiers and running round like some kind of possessed devil since you were little. It's what you've always wanted." She swallowed gently and wiped a lace handkerchief over her eyes. "I'm gonna worry though, I'm ya mother for heaven's sake." She threw up her hands in surrender. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her smaller frame in an affectionate gesture and breathed in the scent of her hair._

"_I know mom, but I'll come back." He smiled into the dark strands. "I promise. It's not for ever and David is still here to look after you"_

"_I know," she mumbled into his shirt and held onto him, then stepped back in mild horror. "Oh no I've mussed up ya special jacket." He placed his hand tenderly on her own as she went to wipe the wetness away._

"_It's fine mom," he looked down at her intently, his tone changing. "You know I love you." The woman smiled tearfully._

"_I love you so much my little Tommy"_

_They stood there in an affectionate silence until a younger looking male version of the woman poked his head round the kitchen door. "Tom we need to get ya to the station it's almost 4 o'clock," he leant his shoulder against the doorway as the woman nodded firmly and gave the boy a lasting hug. She ushered him out the door, the dark haired man following closely. They passed through the front door quietly._

"_I'll get ya bags Tom," the dark haired man took the suitcase from the boy._

"_Thanks Dave," the boy turned to his mother. She sniffed._

"_Now be good, I know you love being enthusiastic but don't be reckless." She brushed some imaginary lint from his sleeve. "and no drinking except on thanksgiving, I don't want you ending up like that horrid Frank next door." She paused as he rolled his eyes. "And change your underwear everyday."_

"_Mom!" He frowned half heartedly. She smiled slyly._

"_And write every week, if you don't I'll call your squad captain and tell him your neglecting your dear old mom." The boy sighed good humouredly._

"_Of course mom," her hugged her quickly as the cab beeped impatiently. "Don't forget to write back!" He shouted as he was pushed into the cab by his brother. The woman waved the handkerchief jerkily._

"_And don't get into any fights!" The cab moved off the curb and into the street. He turned to see his mother waving enthusiastically and brother looking quietly solemn; he raised a hand in response._

"_And don't get killed!" He smiled. You had to appreciate that._

* * *

The bowl of soup danced tantalizingly in his peripheral vision. It smelt like chicken, he _loved _chicken and looked so damn good, better than his dog-beans in any case (although that wasn't hard). He glanced discreetly around the dank room, it was hard to tell how much time had passed but his watch was still working_. 27 hours_. 27 hours into this and he was still (partially) sane, that was good.

_Only 141 hours to go._

Aw crap he'd be _dead _before it was over, never mind sane. He glanced around the room again; _focus, _Maybe if he could cause a distraction he could nick it off her. She was too paranoid though, she'd be wise to him, and really he couldn't blame her. He _was_ plotting after all. Perhaps a feigned indifference though might help. He put his best 'I don't care' face on and leant in inconspicuously, or maybe not so much as her eyes snapped up as soon as he moved a millimeter. He ignored her paranoia as his heart leapt.

"Whacha eating?" She narrowed her eyes and stared at him suspiciously.

"No you can't have some," he twitched. _Damn. _She smiled devilishly and took a spoonful, slurping slowly, not the most graceful of moves but his stomach growled loudly betraying him. "You know if you had stopped ragging on girls for a minute and had actually learnt something from them you could've been enjoying a delicious meal with me."

He glared dangerously. They were not going there again. He told her so. She shrugged at his obvious tension, thankfully too tired to fight.

"Jealousy is an ugly thing," but not too tired to quip annoyingly.

"Pcht, I don't want any of ya soup," he stuck up his nose, fiddling with his semi broken bat. "And I wouldn't expect REDs to be any kind of nice or generous anyway." She chuckled.

"Touché." She took a sip of soup as he raised a questioning eyebrow. "I'm sure your team is equally ill mannered." She offered as way of an explanation. He wasn't sure what she was getting at; his team was surprisingly nice, albeit mentally unstable.

"Maybe it's a girl thing." She placed the spoon back in the bowl and lifted out more broth.

"I thought we weren't bring that up again." She saw his raised eyebrow and matched it. "Whatever," she shrugged. "I have no reason to be nice to you anyway." He couldn't argue with that.

"I let cha off the chair didn't i?" But he would. She scoffed in disbelief waving the spoon around in her not-tied hands testily.

"Oh yes I'll just call the Nobel committee shall I?" She leant into him. "Although I might have to mention that you conveniently forgot to **untie my legs**. That could dent your nomination" It was true, well he didn't know what the 'Nobel committee' was but her legs were tightly bound, she had the soup stains to prove it. He was particularly proud of exploiting that loophole in the bargain. He smiled at her in amusement as she continued. "You know I never thought I could cook whilst hopping but there you go." He chuckled.

"It was pretty funny especially when you nearly set fire to your jacket," grinning he gestured to the scorch marks on said jacket.

"Hmmm, _hilarious_," dead panning she took another sip of soup. His treacherous stomach struck again. God damn it he _wanted_ that soup! She smiled, reading his mind annoyingly.

"Oh golly this soup sure is de-lic-ious!" He scowled and leant his head on his arms.

"Worthless bitch," he dodged a killer right swing which resulted in the soup nearly tipping over, they were equally mortified at this and she scrambled to right the bowl. He leaned back from her, arms behind his head. "Now, now, calm down dumbass, I've called you worse." She frowned cynically.

"It's not so much that but the fact I'm still very bitter about the whole 'leg' thing," glowering at him she nudged his leg, as if he needed a reminder.

"We never agreed on ya legs remember? Ya wouldn't want me to be forced to hang you upside down from the rafters would ya?"

"And how exactly would you do that?" she snapped testily. He smirked and waggled his eyebrows arrogantly.

"Easily that's how," he didn't need to explain to her, knowing it would piss her off more. She was so cocky about her powers of observation; he'd show her. There were two clever people in this room. She sighed slowly, dragging it out as she finished the last remains of the soup pushing the bowl aside. They locked eyes for a minute, he couldn't help noticing the dark blue-green bruise spreading from her left eye, and her right eye, and her nose. Jesus H Christ she looked mangled. But he got the impression that she had the potential to be reasonably pretty without the bruises, and with lots of makeup of course. _Lots_, he told himself_,_ of makeup

"I need to pee," snapping out of his revere he nearly chocked on nothing but air.

"What?" She couldn't help laughing.

"The shit house, you know _nature calls_." He was mortified. She looked at him with amused cynicism in her eyes. "The bathroom?" He felt slightly less uncomfortable. _Slightly._

However he did count himself lucky that the mess hall had toilets attached. He a wasn't particularly religious man but _thank God. _That didn't discount from his confusion though.

"You need me to come pull ya pants down? Scared of the bogey monster? Go by yourself."

"Ch, hardly, " she waved her hand in a casual fashion. "But I can hardly shit with my legs tied together." He shuddered. She noticed. "God you're such a girl."

"You're the one that has to untie her legs to shit," he ran a hand through his hair deviously. "Mabye I'll wait a bit, I'm too tired to get up." She stared at him blankly.

"Fine but you know if anything happens you're gonna have to clean it up." He paused in his triumph. "You know seeing as I'm all tied up," she continued. "Plus it's 'that time of the month' you know." She leaned forward casually. "Extra fun." Smiling she took a glass of some old cordial she'd been drinking and sipped it slowly, watching him. She laughed, there was a pause. "I tell you that stuff does not come out easily!"

"Fine! Jesus, I can't believe I'm talking about this with you!" He put his head in his hands and groaned loudly. She spoke, he assumed she was grinning because he heard it in her voice.

"What your mother never talked about her period?"

"Stop bringing up my mother dumbass!" He smacked her round the head. Although it was relatively gentle she yelped shrilly.

"Stop hitting me asshole! My face fucking _hurts!_"

"That's the idea dumbass," he dodged a sharp slap. "It's your fault for being so disgusting anyway. Didn't ya momma ever teach ya manners?"

"Oh what so you can hit me when I'm disgusting, but I cant hit you when you're a sexist asshole?" She continued trying to hit him but her grabbed both her wrists over the table, toppling the chair and standing up awkwardly. He leant in, inches from her face.

"Maybe if you were faster you could hit me." He almost sensed her next move as her expression changed. He was a skilled soldier but despite her tied legs he cried out in pain as a sharp; nail bighting pain coursed through his lower body. He fell down in a heap. The _pain._

"Maybe if you were less of a wanker I wouldn't have to resort to kicking you in the balls." He heard her stand up clumsily, and presumably, based on the volume of her voice, bend over the table. It was hard to tell, he was more preoccupied by the feeling of thousands of little voices crying out in pain.

"That's twice in two days isn't it? Keep that up and you'll be sterile before Tuesday _bitch_." Fuck it he would _destroy _her for this. Groaning he got onto his knees wincing and grabbed her round the ankles as she tried to hop awkwardly in the direction of the kitchen. She fell in a graceless heap and he crawled clumsily onto her, pinning her arms above her head.

"How many bones do I have to break before you get the point?" He growled dangerously. She narrowed her eyes.

"I'm confused, what exactly is the point?" He let out a loud groan.

"The point is that I could _kill you,_" she didn't look particularly surprised, or, he noticed with exasperation, scared. "You should just stop being so," he struggled to find the right words. "Annoying." Yeah it was lame. "Why can't you just sit still with your mouth shut and be a _good girl_." He finished desperately. Now that he had said it out loud it sounded very stupid. She obviously thought so too.

"Right, okay then, here's the deal. Untie me." She paused, "completely. And I'll be good." He made a sound of disbelief.

"Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna believe that. No way." He rolled his eyes. She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh c'mon scout-y-boy I wouldn't hurt you," _scout-y-boy?_ He laughed in disbelief.

"Of course not." She grinned.

"I know we're on different teams but we can try and be civil at least, i mean it's nothing really personal, the only reason i hate you is because i'm paid to and i'm pretty sure we won't be getting overtime for this." Smiling she rolled her jaw, wincing. "Plus my cheek really hurts." He looked down at her. Why should he do anything she wanted, he was already being too lenient. On the other hand he didn't think he could survive another 5 days with her like this. Perhaps a temporary truce was a good idea. She seemed to catch onto his thinking.

"Look scout-y-boy," he sighed wearily, these name were driving him insane.

"Tom."

"What?"

"My name's Tom." She blinked then grinned slyly. _Shit._ Why did he just say that?

"Tom ay? Can I call you Tommy?" She guffawed loudly. "Or T-man? T-dog?"

"No," He knew she wouldn't listen to him.

"Or 'The Big T', 'Thomas the Tank engine"?"

"You know this really isn't helping ya case," she stopped laughing and eyed him semi seriously.

"Look T-dog, I'm not going to try anything," she paused, gauging his reaction. It was that of moderate annoyance. _T-dog? _Why oh why had he told her his name! She'd be gloating about it for ages. "I want to get out alive as much as you do, if we keep fighting like this we're both gonna end up dead. We should save it for the battle field" She finished the sentence in a serious tone; he knew she wasn't kidding.

"I agree, which is why ya should do everything I say without question." He wasn't kidding either and she clearly didn't appreciate it as she frowned in irritation, but surprisingly she didn't take that bait. Instead she sighed tiredly.

"Can I at least go do my business without being tied up? Tommy-boy?" He scowled but considered it. Surely he wouldn't loose face if he gave her a little leeway? He could totally take her anyway, if she did try anything. And she'd be a lot more agreeable if she wasn't complaining about the rope every two seconds. Most definitely he couldn't deny her, her bathroom rights though. She was right when she said he'd have to play cleaner and if he wouldn't untie her legs now why would he later in such instance? He was a man but he had some sense of hygiene and decency. Plus it's not like they were going to become friends because of it or anything.

Smiling slightly he looked down, he'd let her go he decided but he could still mess with her. And get something extra in the bargain. Her cheeks were flushed in between the bruises and leaning over her precariously he got an idea. She wasn't the only plotter in the room (Because he was certain she was, plotting, that is) and just because he was a virgin didn't mean he didn't know how to charm a girl, he had 7 brothers for God's sake! It was, however, slightly unnerving, the thought of trying to seduce _her._ He supposed it was something to do with the fact that she was a _freaking psycho_. Experimenting, he leant close to her face and breathed in deeply. She stiffened immediately. Chuckling lowly he ran his lips ever so softly against her jaw line in the way he'd practiced. She jumped and frowned in annoyance when he bit down lightly on her lobe. It was eerily silent apart from the sound of her breathing. He nuzzled into the side of her face, cheek to cheek. Her breath was hot against his ear. He was sure he'd nailed it, She, however, didn't think so.

"What the _fuck _do you think you're doing?" Her voice was low, his stomach tightened. He took a long and slightly shaky breath, to regain his somewhat awkward confidence, wondering if this had been a good idea.

"Make me soup," He whispered into her ear hopefully. There was a pregnant pause.

"What?" She struggled against his arms.

"Make me soup and we'll have a truce," he detached himself from her cheek and looked down at her flushed, annoyed face.

"Ok, just get off me your freak," he grinned triumphantly. She scowled realizing her mistake too late. He'd won on his terms. He pulled himself off her swiftly and made a beeline for her ankles, untying the material roughly. She sat up and rubbed her ankles through the baggy denim jeans.

"I don't know why I'm surprised, you look like a sexual deviant." Leaning back on his heels he chuckled.

"I'm may be above killing ya at this point in time but I'm not above using my irresistible charms to get what I want."

She rolled her eyes, "Honey, that was the most awkward, thing a boy's ever done to me" and she got up unsteadily and trudged off, leaving him quite at a loss.

* * *

She didn't know what he was playing at. Bloody wanker, being all seductive and shit. If you could call it that, she had not lied when she'd said it had been awkward. Awkward and weird, that's for sure. Whatever, she was not one for falling for the first guy to try it on. He'd have to do better than that. _Not_ that she'd ever consider doing _anything_ with him. But come on, she'd have to be blind to ignore his toned physique, plus he wasn't too bad in the face department either. He did smell something awful though; she could hardly breathe with him on top of her like that, the funk was mind-boggling.

She pushed the thought aside as she stepped out of the cubicle and into the small washroom. She hadn't had any action for at least a year; and a girl could only take so much, she was bound to find the fist male she came upon attractive (Except for Pierre, bastard was entirely too smooth, it pissed her off). She was a 'modern', independant woman who didn't need a constant man, no, dark fumbling one night stands would do her. Plus, she thought it unlikely that she'd be getting married anytime soon anyway, if not ever (Men didn't marry 36 year olds these days, they married delicate 16 year old flowers). A secret rendezvous with an enemy did rank quite highly on the excitement scale. But that was total romance novel bullshit. And also she _**hated the guy**_. That _might_ be a big factor. She scoffed, there was a line between fantasy and reality and she made a point to never cross it. Neither did she think she could stomach any kind of sexual contact with the guy. Her stomach turned in knots just thinking about it.

Washing her face and hands she looked in the small mirror of the single toilet bathroom. Shit, she looked horrible. Fingering her left cheek gently she frowned sadly. She didn't really want to admit it to herself but even if she were 16 she'd probably would have a hard time getting married. Aside from the complete and utter lack of manners, her compelling urge to swear her head off at anything and horrendous table etiquette, she really wasn't the brightest flower in the bouquet. She was just normal, _painfully_ normal. Normal brown eyes, normal brown hair (A not so normal crooked nose, courtesy of an annoying spy) normal body, normal _everything. _And when you were normal you had nothing going for you except your talents. She didn't think any men would appreciate her gunman abilities no matter how amazing. It pissed her off.

She strode purposefully out of the single bathroom before she could dwell on her _normalness _anymore, and then realized she really had no agenda to fulfill. There was no battle or fight to be won, (Except with the smugness himself but that could sit for a while, she had no energy to deal with _him_) just hours ticking away. Said Smugness, or should she say _Tom_ was lying on the floor under a thin blanket, presumably asleep. _Trusting fool. _She could strangle him if she wanted. Screw the truce. She jumped slightly when he raised a finger in the air.

"I know what ya thinking and ya wrong," okay so maybe he wasn't a trusting fool. Good, she thought, at least I'm not stuck with an idiot.

But then what with him telling her his name? What was up with that! Fucking hell this guy was completely off par with any other guy she'd known. (Except Pavlov, the team Heavy, he was fucking nuts.) She'd assumed he was just a normal annoying guy but the Pandora's box of his personality was becoming more painfully open by the minute. It pissed her off.

A lot of things pissed her off she decided.

She sat down at the table, she'd just have to wait and be patient, get back to the original plan. Sighing she reached for the medi gun. It was fully recharged, _thank God_. Why it couldn't be calibrated to recharge in mere minutes like the medics she didn't know. it was probably an older crapper model. She commenced using it on her left cheek. Sweet Jesus it felt so good.

"Where's my soup," she paused in her happiness and glanced down at the guy on the floor, gesturing to her face.

"Can I possibly have a minute to fix my broken cheek?" She snapped, "you should have though about your soup before breaking it." He rolled his eyes and turned over shivering, too out of sorts to argue. It was very cold she noticed vaguely. A minute passed. She reveled in her newly _not_ hurting cheekbone and glanced around for something to warm her up a bit. There was nothing save her crumpled, ripped shirt from before. She glanced down and zipped up her jacket haughtily. _Pervert_. Glaring unseemly at the form of Mr Smugness she exhale noisily.

The next few hours passed slowly, she had never experienced such a mind numbing boredom in all her life. Tommy -boy slept for an hour or two before getting up, demanding his bloody soup then going back to sleep after she had explained (Angrily) that 'she'd get around to the fucking soup when she fucking felt like it' to which he responded. "I untie you and this is the reaction I get." Before they both sat facing away from each other like two year olds. There was nothing to do. Never had she been so out of sorts. So she made a cup of tea with some stale tealeaves found in the kitchen. If there was one thing she needed at that moment it was a cup of hot tea.

She heard him rouse for the umpteenth time as she stirred the hot liquid gleefully. She wished there was some kind of book to read. Maybe something about guns or a nice mystery. But she'd never really looked around the base she realised, so how could she assume there was nothing. Although the chances of anything mildly intellectual being in the room was exceedingly low. Maybe she could find something cool though. The hall was not particularly large; it consisted of two long tables, a lot of chairs, a wall of lockers, two cupboards and a broken TV. The kitchen had a counter connecting it to the hall and the bathroom was off to a door on the left of the lockers. She briefly realized with mild horror that there were probably some hidden camera's around. She didn't think the administrator would leave any gaps in her surveillance. Whatever though, she though dismissing it, it's not like they were going to do anything scandalous. Although she did register that the fact that she hadn't killed the bastard would probably get her a swift ear bashing later. Fuck it, she'd never liked the bitch anyway. Leaving her half finished tea on the table she shufffled over to the set of cupboards on the far side of the room. She yanked open the first doors to reveal a set of fireproof suits. Useless, unless the moron decided to force her to cook his bloody soup with her hands behind her back. She honestly would not put it past him. Closing the door she reached for another. Opening it, the smile spread across her face.

"You obviously didn't look hard enough for a blanket!" She glanced at the half awake form of Mr smug. He groaned sluggishly.

"Wha are ya talking about?" She pulled out the thick fur camping blanket and wrapped it round her person happily; turning to face him she twirled. Feeling the best she had in the two days they'd been stuck.

"Looks warm, doesn't it?" He glared at her through sleepy eyes. Clearly he wanted it. She felt powerful. Slightly pathetic, she pondered, feeling powerful over a blanket, but there you go. He got up and made his way unsteadily over to her.

"Is there another one?" She shook her head. He grimaced and sighed. He looked exhausted. Not that she cared.

"Fine," he reached out and stroked the fur over her upper chest. She couldn't help the shiver. She cursed her rampant libido and avoided the look of curious triumph on his face. _Bloody hell. She needed to get laid. _Grimacing in disgust at her own desire she shifted the subject.

"You're being so agreeable T-dog?" He looked at her with a mixture of distain at his new nickname and amusement in his blue eyes. "I'd have expected you to fight me for it by now."

"I don't feel like hitting you again," she frowned angrily and put her hands on her hips. Leaning closer with a grin on his face, he muttered lowly. "Every time we argue I end up on top of you." She was not amused.

"Must you be so crude?"

"Look whose talking!" He let out an incredulous cry, stepping away from her

"Me? Crude?" She waved a casual hand. "Nah when I swear it's real classy y'know."

They chuckled in mutual agreement. Then paused, looks of abject horror on either one's face.

"We just."

"I know."

_Shit._ She busied herself with closing the cupboard and making for the next one. Ignoring him completely. They were _not_ friends damnit! He'd fucking broken her cheek and given her concussion for fucks sake. Fucking wanker! Not to mention he was a BLU! In between trying to hate him so as not to distract her from his capabilities and trying to get on with him so he wouldn't feel compelled to use them (Not that that had been very successful mind you) she'd managed to slip into a state of mutual un-appreciation of their situation. She needed to keep on track. Opening the next door as to keep her preoccupied she noticed a strange mewing coming from the door once over. She frowned and shuffled over. It was slightly stuck, she narrowed her eyes and yanked it open jerkily.

"Holy shit!" A large black blur sped out of the small space hissing. Tom jumped to the side in total surprise having clearly been deep in thought, she could guess what about.

"What the hell was that?" They both glanced at each other and shuffled cautiously over to the table the black fur ball had darted under. Kneeling down they peered at it.

It was a cat.

It as a minute before anything registered.

"Why was there a cat in your cupboard?" Tom turned to her questionably. She looked back at him and then to the hissing ball of fur. She had no idea, but then something struck. It struck like a lightning bolt.

"I think it's Pavlov's," she whispered in stunned disbelief. "Our heavy."

"Ya heavy owns a cat?" He scoffed in amusement. "And he brings it on _missions_?" She nodded slowly. Tom burst out laughing and collapsed in a heap.

"This is gonna last me all year!" She glared at him.

"It's not funny wanker! He must have left him in there to protect him," it was disgustingly heartwarming. She ran a hand through her hair in irritation. The wanker stopped choking on his own spit to ask her a question.

"How do ya know itsa he?" She fell back on her bum with a plonk and turned to look at him evenly.

"His name is Timothy Tibbles." He burst out laughing again. She wished she was kidding but the Russian heavy had in fact introduced her to his hateful ball of vileness. She slumped disbelievingly. Now there was fucking cat to deal with. She would _kill _that Russian moron. She _hated_ cats; nasty hissing pieces of fur. There were two types of people in the world. Dog people and cat people. She was a complete and total dog person. Groaning as she frowned at the still hissing thing she recalled many a time when she had been less than impressed with a cat. Hell she still had the scars from when the next-door neighbors thing had attacked her for shooing it out of the backyard. Dogs were _cool_; cats were so fucking demanding and haughty. At least dogs could _help _you. There was a noise. She looked up in surprise as Tom clicked his tongue gently.

"Here kitty kitty," he crooned. She snorted and he frowned disapprovingly at her. The look of 'what' on his face was priceless. _Not your friend_ she reminded herself. "Come here Mr. Tibbles."

To her total surprise Mr. Tibbles stopped hissing and eyed the wanker's out stretched hand suspiciously. Entranced she watched as the cat sniffed gently at Tom's fingers. They sat there for what seemed an age before she nearly died of shock when the stupid cat licked them sporadically. Okay this was getting weird. Tom the sexist wanker was patting a cat lovingly, she could continue living and never be surprised again. How did the thing even survive in there with out them realizing? It was an annoying dilemma. One she wished she could shoot. She narrowed her eyes at him as her hoisted the thing onto his lap.

"How can you like cats? They're so nasty."

"I'm not biased bitch," he raised his eyebrows self importantly, she laughed disdainfully at his response eyeing the furball warily. "I love all animal's equally." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah except humans," she grumbled getting up clumsily. He raised an eyebrow cynically. Tested by her constant quip.

"Where are you going?" She crossed her arms over each other.

"I'm going to go to the opera moron." She said dryly, raising a brow at him. "Jesus! I'm going to make your stupid soup your majesty," as if it was the most obvious thing to do at a time like that. She bowed mockingly and avoided looking at the cat. "Anything to get away from that _thing_." He grinned cheekily and nodded approvingly.

"Please, continue slave, don't let me and my friend get in your way." She growled and stalked off in the direction of the kitchen, blanket trailing behind. He waved a hand to get her attention. "Oh and grab some milk for Mr Tibbles would ya!"

_Stupid Mother fucking wanker. Stupid mother fucking cat._

* * *

**A/N Oh scout what have you set in motion! Or should I say Thomas what have you done, or T-Dog, whichever one you prefer. Oh how hilarious! (I nearly called him Tim but that sounded too weedy) And excuse the totally cliché names for the spy and Heavy (Pierre and Pavlov).**

**Dear old Mr Timothy Tibbles, what where you doing in there?**

**Ah this whole chapter made me laugh while writing it. It'll probably get more strange and humorous from here on as they get used to each other more. Especially with Mr TIbbles there. Sniper-girl is clearly not a cat person. On a side note it's really weird writing a cat hating person because cat's are my favourite animal. LOL**

**So I have a reviewers question; Are you a cat person or a Dog person?**

**EDIT: added a little about hidden cameras as per a review on the subject. Thanks for that by the way it's kinda inspired the next 'event'**

**Please review**


	4. Day 3: Radio Backstab

**CHAPTER RATING –T**

**WARNINGS – LOTS of bad language, really it's quite alarming. Some sexual references HA. But a serious warning though, if you're younger or get offended by 'above the waist fondling' and some darker connotations you might want to skip the last section. In general it just gets pretty strange. I warned you.**

* * *

_Deplorable. It was completely and utterly deplorable. The dark haired warlord snarled at the computer screen in front of her. Watching as the two slightly blurred figures sat opposite from each other in a disgustingly quiet state of calm. Two days, she'd given them two days and they still hadn't even fatally wounded each other? She leaned closer to the screen observing carefully, her eyes widened, and was that a cat! She growled dangerously. "Miss Pauling!" The fact that the two opposing team members hadn't killed each other yet was not only a statement on the lack of aggression in this glorious war but was a negative reflection of her own wedge driving abilities._

_It made her sick. She couldn't, wouldn't, let it continue._

_"Miss Pauling!" She yelled again glancing round to see if she could spot her inane assistant. The meek woman scuttled into her line of vision and pursed her lips nervously._

_"Y-yes?" The administrator gave the tiny woman a look of distain._

_"Oh really Miss Pauling must you be so nervous around me, I'm not going to bite your head off." Miss Pauling fidgeted and looked as if she didn't believe a word of it. Wise, considered the harsh woman, but still irritating, although it was nice to be constantly reminded of her own power. She sighed. Still, why such imbeciles surrounded her she would never know. She smiled as best she could and patted Miss Pauling on the arm. "What kind of communication do we have with these two morons?" The small woman furrowed her brow in thought and bit her lip._

_"Uh well, in a lockdown situation main communications should be functional, although," she paused. "They are in the mess hall, I don't think there's a working com in there." She stepped back at the look of annoyance on the administrator's face. "U-uh it is possible that we can contact their emergency radios, that is if they're still worki…i..ng" She trailed off at the disturbing grin that spread from her boss' face. "um…" The administrator slid a taloned hand cross the woman's shoulders. "Say Miss Pauling what are the chances of these two developing some sort of," she snorted in disgust. "Friendship, over the next five days?" Miss Pauling swallowed._

_"Um well they are on different teams but they do seem to have been getting on surprisingly well, I mean, they haven't killed each other yet suppose. Uh why?" The taller woman stood up and started to pace. "Well you see Miss Pauling, if there's one thing I can't stand it's friendship, you are aware of this," the smaller woman nodded quickly._

_"Yes."_

_"And if there's one thing I love doing, it's destroying a good friendship" Miss Pauling took a step back, eyes wide. "Yes." She barley whispered. The administrator turned from her "Well evidently these two need a lesson in this," she smiled demonically. "They have clearly forgotten what happened to our dear associates Degroot and Doe." Pacing still, she continued. "I will not allow these two morons to develop such a bond, any bond" She turned sharply on her heel gesturing at the TV screen. "What kills friendship Miss Pauling?"_

_"Uh? Competition?"_

_She turned to the smaller woman, smiling._

_"Betrayal."_

* * *

The lights flickered on an off as she chuckled, paying no heed to the electrical fault. "I still maintain to this day that car set itself on fire," he raised his eyebrows and she grinned. "No joke."

"God, ya freakin' psycho." He shook his head in a mix of mild amusement and disgust. "You are without a doubt the weirdest broad ever, and" he added as an afterthought. "Da most violent." She tipped her imaginary hat.

"And don't you forget it." kicking him 'lightly' with her foot. They sat in a strangely contented silence, broken only by the inane purring of the brainless cat sitting on Tom's lap. He had been fervent on letting Mr Tibbles run free. She had offered to lock him in the cupboard again but her offer was (violently) declined. T-dog insisted she would get used to his 'cute little pudding'. She insisted that his 'cute little pudding' didn't actually belong to him and if Pavlov ever found out he'd so much as looked at the stupid thing he'd have to go into hiding for the rest of his natural life. Not that she cared, she had added, but she had to work with the guy and it's be no fun if he resented her involvement in the whole scenario as an accessory to cat larceny.

"Firstly," he held up a hand and ticked off the fingers. "If anything you are a hostage not an accessory," she rolled her eyes. "Secondly, ya dumbass heavy will have no idea we're even here let alone with his cat," he flicked another finger down. "c, if Pavlov loved his cat so much why'd he leave him in a cupboard," she couldn't argue with that. "And fifth, I am better than you so I get to make the big decisions." She scoffed.

"What about 'four?" He scratched Mr Tibble's ears.

"What about it?"

"Well you missed it, and also," she pointed out. "You said c instead of three." He sighed haughtily

"I can't be expected to remember everything you know, I'm not the perfect man you think I am."

"Ha!" She scoffed. "I'm pretty sure you're exactly the man I think you are, and believe me you are so far from perfect it's not even vaguely a word i would use to describe you." He straightened up with a look of almost sincere confusion on his face. She chucked to herself, he was actually confused as to why she didn't think he was perfect.

"Please, enlighten me as to why you think this." He sniffed, crossing his arms indignantly.

"Well lets see," she scratched her invisible beard thoughtfully. "You're young, about 20 probably," she thought about this and continued. "That counts against you already." He looked offended.

"I'm 21 thank you very much, 22 in May." He snorted. "And you can talk! Ya 20 something probably!" She shook her head in amusement.

"36 kid." She examined her fingernails.

"Don't 'kid' me you old crone, it's only 15 years!" He exclaimed resentfully.

"Yes, yes," she waved a hand to calm him down. "Anyway, judging by your dog collar you're an army Private or maybe Private First Class?" He shook his head.

"Wasn't there long enough, transferred to BLU after my Basic,"

"Oh?" She raised a brow and leant on her hands.

"Yeah," he straightened noticeably. "My Commanding officer said I had 'genuine talent'"

"Which brings me to my next point," she paused. "Talent or not, you're an arrogant bastard, like all army privates." He narrowed his eyes.

"Oh yeah what do ya know about army privates?" He said, crossing his arms.

"Well considering I've been in the Women's army corps for 10 years I'd say I have a bit of experience." She replied smugly but her eyes gave off pain. "Anyway, apart from your lack of manners, chivalrousness, common sense, intelligence," she pause. "The list goes on really. I know you think you're perfect darlin' but your not." Tom frowned in annoyance.

"Hey. I said don't treat me like a kid, or like I'm beneath ya dumbass, ya not so special yourself." He sniffed. "Hell you're not a looker or even that more intelligent than me, and don't go banging on about manners when you have a mouth that'd make my bothers blush" He ushered Mr Tibbles off his lap in an agitated manner and stood up, annoyed, rubbing his chin. "How are you even in a military unit anyway? Huh? Women's corps is strictly non combative, the REDS musta been hella desperate to hire a broad." He looked at her questionably and added. "Or totally blind" She sighed.

"You of all people should know RED and BLU are corporate military, not in the public eye, they don't care about sex, as long as you kill the other guy." She smiled. "and I may have lied on my form." She chuckled. "By the time I was shipped out to this hole you call a country they couldn't be fucked sending me back. I am the best after all."

He shrugged and went to the kitchen.

"Pft, whateva, I still think you and your REDs are crazy," his voice drifted though the service window. "Don't even do background checks God what is this?"

She lifted her glass to her lips and sipped the cool water. It was still freezing in the dank room, although she couldn't really tell with her blanket around her shoulders. The problem was her toes. She was sure that they would drop off at the end of all this from frostbite and she didn't fancy the prospect of taking off her socks to check their progress, even if she knew she'd have to eventually. _Only 4 and a bit days to go._ Oh God this was horrible. How she was going to make this out alive _and _sane she just couldn't picture. There was no way. Although, she supposed, at least they were being more civil now, less dangerous multicolored looking bruises and more sharing and caring. Ha! What a joke, Tommy boy was definitely not the sharing and caring type. A steaming mug slid in front of her zoned out eyes. She paused for a moment then looked up.

"You have sugar in that stuff right?" He was positioned above her looking somewhat handsome in his momentary generosity, his light brown hair gleaming from the halogen lamps on the ceiling. She was stunned for a second but resisted the urge to slap herself and figured she'd just come out and say it.

"You're not trying to poison me are you?" His face fell dramatically and he scowled.

"Fuck it! You do one nice thing and it gets totally misinterpreted," he looked genuinely offended and grunted angrily. Then set down his own mug of strange brown goo with a noticeable amount of annoyance. Great she'd pissed him off again. Not that she could work out why such a minor (and reasonable, in her opinion) question had garnered such a sulky reaction. She tried to switch the attention.

"What is that?" She inquired, gesturing toward his mug.

"It's Bonox princess bitcharella," she sat in a state of mild shock at this snarky comment. Suddenly he got up very quickly, turned, taking his mug, and stalked off to what she suspected was the table farthest away from her. She had the overwhelming desire to sigh '_ooooookaaay'_ but that probably wouldn't have helped. Whatever. If the sulky little moron was going to get up and start getting offended at every little thing (as opposed to everything else) then let him, it was not in her nature to care about a Blu, and certainly not someone like him. They sat in separated silence for at least 30 minutes, a resounding 'tap tap' from Tom's fidgeting becoming increasingly annoying, before she decided to take a proper look at her feet. They were so cold now she was actually worried. And she had no desire to have to sit in silence pondering Tom's hurt _feelings._

She got up gingerly, wincing slightly as her cramped legs rebelled painfully against her decision to move, and hobbled over to the kitchen. Setting her mug down she set about trying to find the biggest pot she could. Given that it was an army mess hall he choice was easy, made between big and bigger. In fact the largest pot was so big it was clearly designed to cover the entire stovetop and she reasoned she could probably have a bath of sorts. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. Even better if she could find some temporary clothes, then she could even clean her mangled, blood stained shirt that was crumpled up on the floor discarded from its short lifespan as a hostage tie. She was more masculine in her habits than feminine but she reasoned not even the grubbiest of girls would sit still covered in the filth she was presently covered in.

She lugged the pot over to the bathroom and swung it through the door. The resounding clang that resulted was much louder than she'd anticipated. There was a sharp 'fuck' from Tom and a prickly death glare that followed suit. Even Mr Tibbles jumped about a foot from where he'd been peacefully snoozing. Surprisingly she didn't feel the smug amusement at either being's irritation of her actions. If she had to put a mark on it she would almost say she felt embarrassed. But that was absurd, stupid and ridiculous. Why should she be embarrassed in front of either of the beings she so very much disliked? She was tired._I'm tired._ She agreed with herself, selectively choosing to ignore the redundancy of such an afirmation and made her way to the lockers on the wall. After finding the blanket and that god-awful cat she had carefully dissected each locker. She knew there were a few t-shits around and promptly located the most unoffending one, proudly sporting a slogan of "world's goodest teacher". Who owned these she would never know.

She went about her scavenging business until she had everything she could think of and hurried quickly into the bathroom, grateful her legs had stopped paining so much. It would do her worse than no good to have any kind of medical problems, especially without access to a proper medi gun. Their current (outdated) model was looking very worse for ware, she wouldn't be surprised if it started inflicting more damage than it aimed to get rid of. After locking the door quickly she set her pile of stuff in a corner where she hoped they wouldn't get wet. There was a cleaning tap underneath the sink, which looked about high enough to fill the pot. She slid the makeshift bath over and smiled as hot water gushed, steaming into the pot. She was surprised there was even hot water available, but she supposed that it was just lockdown. As far as she knew the base was in perfect working order, just locked up tight, a fact of which she needed no reminding of. She kicked off her shoes and socks and sat down to examine her feet. Apart from being hideously wrinkled and white they didn't look too bad. Certainly, nothing looked like it was growing mould. She rubbed them experimentally and wiggled her toes, "What a bummer," she chuckled. "Got all worried over nothing." She sniffed and as soon as she was satisfied nothing was going to fall off she got up and peeled off her sleeveless jacket, unhooking her unpleasantly smelling bra. Her skin prickled as the cold air hit it fully.

To her irritation she found there were many unseen bruises dotted on her torso. Including a particularly nasty one in the shape of a hand's grasp on her waist. She growled examining the damage; it wasn't too bad though, just a flesh wound as Harry would say. She could say for certain where it had come from, about the 20th time her and Tom had engaged in an argument come fist fight, probably about his mother she supposed. The stupid boy was such a contradiction. Still she could replay the moment where he'd shoved her up against the wall angrily, one hand on her waist and one on her shoulder. Yelling something about a passing remark she'd made. He was passionate she'd give him that. She paused as the memory played over and over again like a broken record. His face close to hers, until his hand was no longer tight in anger but with desire, and his growl wasn't in fury but lust. Not a boy now, but a man. Water lapped at her feet.

She opened her eyes quickly, trying to remember when she'd closed them. Her belly tingling with what she could not disregard as nausea. The cold air in the small tiled room was now warm with hot steam and her cheeks were flushed. The Pot was running over. _Holy shit_. This was so not cool. She slapped herself in rapid succession, trying to rid the memory of a distorted touch. Concentrating very hard on a funny looking floor tile she shuffled out of the rest of her clothes, kicking aside her long dead radio and tentatively poked a toe into the steaming water. She grimaced in pain, refusing to withdraw, the water was not even close to boiling but it felt like her skin was going to melt. Eventually her skin got used to the heat and relaxed. She slid her entire calf in and again gritted her teeth. Well at least it was an excellent distraction from…other things. She moved another centimeter and squeaked in an embarrassingly girly manner. God, this was going to take all night.

* * *

He'd made her a cup of tea. _He'd_ made _her_ a cup of tea. _He'd _made _her_ a cup of mother fucking tea! And what did she do? Practically throw it in his face that's what! Tom just about deflated into the bench, listening vaguely to the stupid bitch shuffling about. What had Mark said about women? Something about them killing him no doubt. His eldest brother had always delighted in the idea that his little brother was apparently destined to fall hopelessly in love with someone at the drop of a hat and not be able to do a thing about it. Tom resented this. He believed he could do what he wanted thank you very much. And no dumb broad was going to make him do the stupid, _stupid_ things that he knew some men did for love, namely his morons of brothers. That being said he was completely and totally opposed to the idea that the stupid sniper girl meant anything more to him than someone who he'd have to watch and check wasn't going to stab him in the back. The fact that he was thinking about the concept of love at all, let alone with her in the same sentence was alarming enough. He was just trying to be nice to her that's all. Which as far as he was concerned was a miracle within itself. He didn't even know why he wanted to be nice to her.

A resounding clang struck him violently out of his reverie. "Fuck!" He shot his head up to see the girl standing in the bathroom doorway looking uncharacteristically sheepish. He glared daggers at her. "Bitch," he mumbled. He followed her through narrowed eyes as she gathered things for what he assumed was a wash of some sort. Pft, girls and their hygiene. He stood up slowly and stretched his arms. He was so freakin stiff and crusty, come to think of it he wouldn't mind some sort of shower, none of that funny smelling soap stuff though. He leant on the edge of the table as the girl closed the bathroom door and kicked off his shoes, disregarding his socks. He looked at Mr Tibbles, who was glaring quite determinedly at the closed door.

"What did I do Mr Tibbles? What the fuck did I do?" The cat turned lazily to him and regarded him carefully. "You're right, it's her fault. I should just forget about her. Casual indifference. No more trying to be nice." The cat licked a paw and meowed softly. "You're right, if she can't see what a great guy I am then that's her loss, I definitely don't care. Plus she's like ancient, i ain't no grave robber." He sighed, and then realized he was talking to a cat. _Great. This is not happening to me! _Wiping a hand over his brow he pulled off his dirty shirt, tossing it with his shoes and made his way to the far end of the room. It was about time he tried to get reasonable comfortable. _"Only a fool can't make themselves comfortable,"_ his gran had told him once, and he was no fool. Plodding over to the lockers he found the t-shirts, she'd been shuffling through. Settling on a profound t-shirt encouraging passer bys to 'smile if they're horny' he sighed, smiling grimly. The dank room was the same as ever as he surveyed the space. He regarded the tables. Maybe he could make a bed or something, but it wasn't like he had a mattress or anything. He paused in mild despair for the millionth time and sighed. What had he done to deserve this predicament? Locked in a room with a psychopath and no bed. A quiet beeping caught his attention suddenly. He turned towards the exit door, which was where the noise seemed to be coming from. His heart leapt. Maybe lockdown had been cancelled! He practically sprinted the 3 or 4 steps excitedly examining the code panel his face falling; it didn't seem to be anything in that vicinity. He turned, trying to locate a com or a radio on the walls. There was a light crunch, the beep squealed then stopped. He looked down. His emergency radio, and its communication light was flashing. He picked it up curiously; he hadn't thought that it was still working.

"M-cssshhht-ing, thomaaassscttt ng," jumping slightly at the sudden voice, if you could call, half static and a whisper a voice, he pressed the reply button.

"He-hello?"

"Thomas-scccchttttt Ki-schhhhtting?"

"Uh- Thomas King, yeah, I can't hear ya very well, too much static," there was a pause; he sat down gingerly on the edge of the table, hoping, praying the radio would work.

"Issscht that better? Can you hear me now?" His face broke into a grin.

"Yeah, Yeah! A lot better now." He waited, biting his lip.

"Okay scchthomas, this is Miss Pauling from central control," there was a gap. "I'm going to transfer your signal to the Administrator, we have an issue to disccchusttttt with you." Tom took a breath. Okay. The administrator. Shit. He swallowed. His heart was starting to tug at him in fear. He gritted his teeth nervously. Just great, just fucking great, she was going to be pissed he hadn't offed the stupid sniper girl. Hell, pissed was an understatement, that woman got pissed if you didn't hurt a red _bird_. What was she going to be like with direct insubordination?

"Mr King." A mature drawl filtered through the radio. "How are you?" Swallowing, he wasn't sure if he was more shocked she knew his name or by the fact her was asking about his day.

"Uh, okay I guess," he scratched his nose apprehensively, not entirely knowing how to respond to that. There was a crackle and a considered cough.

"I have to offer my apologies for your current predicament. Although it was an excellent military strategy to use gas, I must say." There was an exasperated sigh. "One I can only hope you and your moronic team repeat sometime in the future." There was a pause.

"Uh, thanks?" Now he really wasn't sure what to say, he gulped nervously.

"I hear you've been making a new friend." They were the words he'd been dreading, well something in that context anyway, his heart literally froze; it was a moment before he felt brave enough to respond vocally.

"Um, I wouldn't call her a friend Mrs Administrator…" There was silence, he felt as tense as a tightrope. "S-she's really more of an enemy ya know. I mean she's really annoying and stupid, not to mention violent." He was rambling he knew. But hell, that woman scared the shit out of him. He was greeted with more silence on the other end. "Of course ya really couldn't care about the er, violent part would you Miss. Er Lady…Mam…"

"It is unacceptable." The voice filleted through in an agitated manner, cutting him off. He shut up. "That you seem to think it is tolerable, to allow such an enemy of your cause to live." He swallowed.

"But ah, your magnificence..."

"Please Mr King, don't stress you puny brain" she interrupted, sighing. "Administrator is fine." He gritted his teeth.

"Uh well Administrator, she's a lady," he pursed his lips in uneasiness.

"And?" The voice was clearly irritated. "Is that a problem?" He wiped a hand over his brow.

"Well, I don't, um hurt ladys?" He let out a tense breath. "And it's not exactly a combat situation, we're both injured ya know, and we both agreed to wait till it's a level playing ground."

"For goodness sake Mr King, anyone would think you were nice," he opened his mouth. "What a joke." He closed it again. The Administrator continued, icy anger laced in her tone. "I didn't hire you because you were nice, I hired you because you kill things, and you run fast. Like a _dog_." He scowled through another crackle. "_Besides_ if you kill her quickly you won't have to hurt her." He laughed shortly and didn't really see how this made anything much different, then again, he reflected with shrewd irritation it would be a cold day in hell before he understood how a woman thought, much less a woman such like the Administrator. For goodness sake, 3 years and he'd never had to deal with any women past his mother, now two in as little as a day. He shook his head in misery. Talking back to the old crone wasn't really on his list of high priorities, but in the end the whole deal just didn't set well with him. Maybe 3 days ago, no problem, but now? He's almost gotten to _know_ her.

"With deepest err…respects Administrator, surely there is another way to do this y'know, give her a fair chance." There was a short laugh.

"I expected a little resistance," she spoke in annoyance, almost to herself. "Of course, but listen to you! You _stupid_ boy, thinking you're so chivalrous and gentlemanly, this is the _military _and you are a lap dog_._" He frowned in annoyance at her derogatory tone (well, more so than usual, she was always yelling at them and shit). He had been trying, not even someone as maladjusted as that girl deserved to be backstabbed. "Don't think I don't know where this is going silly boy. You are so young, and so unbelievably stupid." He bit his lip, seriously now, to stop himself from letting him run off his mouth at her, if the sniper girl had talked to him like this he'd gotten her on the ground by now. Of course talking back to the administrator, let along tackling her would never be acceptable, so he resigned to the lip thing. "That lady, you refer to," the administrator continued. "Is not a lady, not a woman. She is a highly trained killing machine." Well he really couldn't argue with that. The drawl continued. "That 'lady' touched her first rifle at 15, she killed her first animal at 16 and her first _human_ at 23. She's lived half her life in solitude and the other half being abused by the men who would try to crush her, and they did. Multiple times. Do you really think she cares about anything except herself?" There was a pregnant pause and the Administrator continued. "She says she was allowed to join RED because of divine chance? Well Mr King, in my world there is no _God_." She finished significantly and he let out a breath he had not known he'd been holding. Stupidly he decided to venture into risky territory yet again. But if there was one thing he knew about himself, he was nothing if not persistent

"I understand she's very dangerous but I still-" He did not survive.

"Do I have to spell it out for you Mr King?" Her voice was dangerously hostile, as she shot him down. "Whatever feelings you have for Miss Jones are not only inappropriate, stupid and foolish but are expressly forbidden and will _not_ be tolerated as long as you belong to us. We pay you to kill, not to lust after your enemies."

There was silence.

What? His heart pounded in his chest. Feelings? He spluttered.

"Um I understand but I don't think that's an issue-"

"Oh come now Mr King," she interrupted impatiently, he growled and wished she'd stop doing that. "The only reason you would be so disgustingly disobedient is if you had some sort of…feelings, for this woman." She audibly shuddered. "Ugh, _feelings_." He frowned. Feelings? He didn't have any feelings for that bitch! She was annoying, ugly, violent, insulting, really he could go on forever. The point was he did not have any kind of _feelings_ (except violent ones) for _Miss Jones._

But.

On the other hand, he realized with horror, why on earth would he be so uncomfortable with getting rid of her? Think of the peace, the bruises that could heal if he got rid of her. He'd stop getting headaches every time she opened her mouth, and not have to worry about her deliberate attempts to step on poor Mr Tibbles. It was so simple, and yet the decision was annoyingly difficult. It's because she's a lady. He tried to convince himself desperately. **He didn't fucking kill ladies!**

"Now, Mr king," the Administrator cut through his thoughts curtly. "There are two ways we can go with this, and I am going to give you a decision." There was finality in her tone and she spoke slowly as if explaining something to a child. "Seeing as you cannot do it, because of whatever reason you have deluded yourself with, you will call your team and get them to do it, facing humiliation and ridicule for failing to kill an enemy." He pulled at the edge of his shirt. Shit. "Or you can not dispose of her yourself, _not _call your team. And loose your job, reputation and any chance of ever working with us again." Even shittier.

There was a crackle of finality. "You have 4 days to decide and make the call, the code is 123, easy enough," she added with distain. "Even for you."

There was a sharp click and the radio went dead before he could retaliate.

* * *

She'd been lying there for a while peacefully, soaking in the warmth, letting it soothe her aching body, when the door swung open gently. The strange sound of bare feet touching the wet tiles made her open her eyes narrowly. He was standing in front of her, fully clothed, observing down on her with a strange look in his eye, one she had seen before. He moved closer, thin, lean shins barley touching the silver tub.

"What up bitch?" Her first instinct was to shout him a new eardrum for barging in here while she was naked for christ sakes. But as he fell to his knees beside her head and leant closer she found she didn't really care and could only think one thing. _Kiss me._

And he did.

Slender fingertips dragged softly across her cheek and she could feel his raggedy breath, intertwining with her own. He smelt of dirt, and grime, and something noticeably male. His scent invaded her lungs like some sort of heady narcotic and she could feel the handle on the pot digging into her back but she didn't care. She needed to get closer feel skin against skin, never had she been set on fire as when he touched her. Her face, Her neck, her breast. She didn't even _know_ him; but kisses from a stranger had never been so heady. His hand ran down to her waist in almost slow motion, the other grasping at her neck wantonly. He let out a ragged sigh as she pulled him closer. Eyes she'd never even realized she'd closed opened to stare at his face, those endless eyes. But it wasn't his. It was _his_.

"What's up bitch?" her stomach dropped as quickly as the room, and she was no longer in lockdown but a chair, arms tied, the metallic taste of blood running freely into her mouth. _The day he broke my nose. _She could feel the cracks in her chest. _The day he broke my heart._Darkness pulling at the edges of her eyes and at the edge of her psyche.

_The day he broke my mind._

_You don't have to rely on other people if you never miss._

She never missed. Not anymore. Not after-

The dark eyes of her sinister lover pushed close. Too close. The scent now changed and claustrophobic.

"Nothing to say to me whore?" She turned away sluggishly, every detail as vibrant as the day it had happened. "Look at me!" He roared.

"Paul…" A sharp pain across her face and she was falling backwards.

The water was running into the drain, somewhat soothing the large bruise where she'd hit the tiled floor. The pot was lying on its side next to her own sprawled form. She sat up quickly. He was gone. It was a dream. A fucking dream. She sat still, naked, like she felt inside, not moving. She sat like that for a while. Unsure if she'd fall apart if she so much as moved an inch. He was supposed to be a distant memory; he wasn't supposed to be in her head still. She'd been promised the drugs would work! She knew it had meant nothing, the entire affair. In retrospect it was obvious. A ploy, a plot, if you will, to get her in the open, then the executioner could come and slit her throat. Except he'd botched the job and left her hanging. The stories always ended up with the deceiver falling in love. To bad her deceiver had truly been a cold-hearted monster, not satisfied with breaking her emotionally, he'd broken her mentally. _You don't have to rely on other people if you never miss. _It was her mantra, and it was true. You never have to rely on anyone except yourself. You just expire a lot quicker that way.

After a while she managed to get up, shakily. Eyes of blue flashed through her mind, so young but so deep. Thomas. _What up bitch?_ What kind of opening line for sex was that? Her brain switched from one thought to another erratically. "I'm going mad." She said to no one in particular. "Again!" She threw up her hands in despair. "I'm going stark raving mad…again! Paul is back to taunt me and Thomas is kissing me in my mind!" She took a deep breath. "It's like dad always said 'all that killin'l make you crazy Iz, killin' ain't for girls, or no one mind you, you're better off working with that nice Mr Lea at his chocolate shop" She collapsed, head in her hands. "Why didn't I just make chocolate like a normal girl?" _Because you're not_. Her mother flashed in her mind. She knew it would always be like that. She wasn't normal. Even before all the shit hit the fan she'd been singled out. She hadn't minded for the longest time, even been proud receiving all the pats and medals but now the desire to just be normal was too overwhelming. Just to stop fighting. In every sense of the word. Maybe she'd go stay with her parents for a while. Once all this lockdown shit was finished. They may not understand anything about what she did but at least they made her feel like she wasn't such an outcast. And they understood her, in their own close-minded way. Sighing wearily she dressed herself slowly, throwing her dirty laundry in the pot and running another set. Gradually her fuzzy erratic mind registered a high-pitched beeping soun, she turned. The once dead radio sitting, discarded, in the corner of the room was blinking and emitting a high pitched beeping noise. She picked it up and pressed the reply button tentatively.

"Hello?"

"Isobel Jones?" She almost jumped in shock.

"Er-yes?"

"This is Miss Pauling from central control," there was a pause. "I'm going to transfer your signal to the Administrator, we have an issue to disccchusttttt with you."

* * *

**A/N Please review**

**Hey Dudes ;)**

**Here we are again! Firstly my deep, deep apologies for the delay! I'd been preparing for a convention as both a vendor and the art director so I've had NO time to write sorry! But it was a month ago and I fully intended to get this done sooner, I've just been in such a crappy creative mood both with drawing and writing, it sucks so much But I'm free now and feeling a bit better so the next chapter should be up sooner.**

**Chapter Notes: I was toying if it would be too out of character for the Administrator to communicate so extensively and directly with the 'soldiers' about what she wanted but I figured, given the circumstance it was alright. Also I mentioned last chapter about ages. Just for interest and to balance my aging decision, because femSniper is so much younger than normalSniper I have adjusted her particular back-story a little so the same attitude toward solidarity and independence is still prevalent. This will be a major playing factor in the rest of the story in regard to her reactions and decisions and has already been touched upon so watch out for it.**

**I also apologise for my lame attempt at 'erotica'. And it's all getting a little weird now isn't it but whatever this is an experiment :) but can you expect TF2 characters to be any kind of sane anyway? Ha ha Also weird chapter title is weird :P**

**Other FYI - Bonox is a beef stock cube drink thing that became popular in the 1920s.**

**T-shirt ideas are based on 60's catchphrases.**

**Robert Lea (mentioned by Sniper girl/Iz/Miss Jones) was the grandson of Harry lea, the founder of Darell Lea, an Australian chocolate company. He opened a chocolate shop in Adelaide (her hometown) in 1966. Just a little bit of extra info for your interest**

**Boy that was a long author's comment! Ha ha As always reviews, crit and questions are very welcome and I hope you've been enjoying so far**

**Reviewer question: What's your favourite TF2 Playing class? Mine's Sollie these days. Ha ha**

Return to Top


	5. Day 4: Group Hallucinations

DAY 4: GROUP HALUCINATIONS

CHAPTER RATING –T

**WARNINGS –**** The usual.**

**DISCLAIMER -** Any views or opinions of the characters are **not necessarily my own.** I'm just trying to characterize the characters well. That's what this story is about, _characterization._

* * *

_2 Adelaide Street_

_Brisbane, QLD_

_Australia_

_October 6__th__ 1960_

_Dearest Isobel,_

_Your father and I hope you are well, we're sorry we cannot ring at this time but the companies' cut the line for a time. Won't be long they say, apparently the money you sent went into the wrong account. We have been assured it will be fixed in due haste. Not a moment too soon I say, your father hardly needs another opportunity to complain, but you know how he is. _

_As such I have to include his wish you would come home and give up this horrid business you have gotten yourself into. I know you insist it is for the best, and yes I know it is our means of support after what happened but again, this is your father we're taking about. He also wishes for me to remind you that when he said 'girls can do as much as boys' he obviously didn't mean for you to take it so literally._

_In any case we miss you dearly, can you get time off over Christmas to come and visit? I know your cousins would love to see you again. George and Molly have expressed a wish to invite you to their annual dinner, I had to tell them you are very busy but it would make them very happy to see you there. The youngest, Fred, wants to hear all about America from you, although I expect you will have to censor most of your tales. He is growing at an extraordinary rate, if only I could figure our how to acquire some pictures to send, he certainly does look a lot like his mother._

_As for your father and I, we are very well, you really try too hard to please us my darling we are very comfortable and I know we would both sacrifice some comfort to see you more often. Everyone still cares for you very much and no one blames you for what happened. In truth I do not think they know the full extent of the whole sordid affair, but that is for the best._

_Markus took your father up to the cattle station last week to get his opinion, apparently that ghastly Mr. Paul is a terrible businessman and is running it all to ruin. I daresay with all these new banks popping up it would get so confusing but still he is apparently not a well liked man these days because of it. I know you said you did not wish to hear news of him but I though it might provide you comfort to know just how much he is failing. I am not ashamed in saying this because it comforts me too. He is truly the kind of man I will always despise._

_Anyway Mrs Fletcher has just arrived and the post leaves at 10 so I will either send something more substantial later or call at the earliest convenience. God bless you my darling Izzie, no matter what has happened and what your father says we are both very proud of you._

_Much love,_

_Your parents_

* * *

_My name is Thomas King and I am not going to be nice to psycho Australian broads._

The mantra had been cycling around in his brain for the last 2 hours, well in the absence of a clock; since he'd woken up. The cement was as charmingly cold and hard as ever. Not even the blissful addition of a blanket and a rudimentary pillow fashioned out of discarded laundry had softened the broken and weary sleep. He was sure sleeping on the cold hard ground had left him more tired than he had been the previous evening. _She_ had been tossing and turning constantly in a most irritating fashion, and he had been just about to throw something at her when she sat bolt upright. Startling him and her both. He raised his eyebrows calmly at the string of curses pouring out of her too wide mouth.

"Bad dream?" She twisted her head to shoot him a withering look. He grinned but she said nothing to retaliate. The bags and lines of her face telling more than her curses ever could. The silence was awkward to say the least. He scratched the back of his neck absently.

"Hey, so I was thinkin', there's some canned crap in the cupboard…"

_My name is Thomas King and I am not going to be nice to psycho Australian broads._

"Err, if you're gonna have any, make me some, yeah?" he finished rather lamely (although rather relieved he had caught himself before he had stupidly offered to cook her breakfast, what the hell was all that about anyway!). Her look, if it was possible, got more withering, and she grimaced.

"Right." Standing up clumsily she yawned then touched her toes. "When I start actually doing favors for spoilt yank brats, I'll call you." He curled a lip, despite the fact he'd walked right into it, he still resented the spoilt brat part.

She shuffled tiredly in the kitchen's direction. A part change of clothes had been the result of the previous evenings bathroom tryst. She now sported a 'hilarious' t-shirt proclaiming her teaching abilities and a pair of very baggy standard issue army pants. Against his better judgment she looked kind of cute. In a weird older woman way he supposed, mentally slapping himself. Although, the large scowl she was sporting, heavily complimented by a string of mumbled profanities, was rather off putting. He wished he could stop thinking of her in such a manner but like always his brain was running ahead of him.

He had already resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to be able to just off and kill her. Not in their present situation anyway, he had promised a truce for God's sake! Call him what you will but his momma had brought him up as a man of his word. A sad annoying fact in this present situation but there it was. He had been vaguely wondering the previous evening where his so often enthusiastic bloodlust had gone. Certainly he was feeling slightly out of character with all this bullshit pacifism. He put it down to just being so dog damn tired and the fact she was a lady but still, if nothing else he had a healthy self-confidence and knew he could trust his own mind, even when it was being a dumbass.

He had mused the night before for God knows how long about the whole mess, God knows he wasn't a thinker but there wasn't much else to do to pass the time. In the end there really was no harm in sending her back to respawn, like the rest of the red dogs. Especially at the insistence of his employer, let it never be said he lacked motivation for violence. But honestly he'd rather eat his own shoes than respawn willingly himself. Life saving technology he supposed, but dying was still dying, even if you woke up a minute later. The worst thing about respawn wasn't the pain (which seemed to last for hours as you literally felt a computer stitch your body back together, not to mention the pain of actually dying in the first place) it was waking up, not knowing who you were or what you were. Then suddenly WHAM! You knew exactly what had happened and all that was left was an overwhelming feeling of nausea reminding you, both physically and mentally, to avoid dying as much as possible. Sure it would suck for her but at least she'd be back where she belonged and he wouldn't have to face the ridicule of his teammates. This had been forming a pretty decent plan in his mind, until he'd remembered the number one rule in the base; "_Fight your team mates and there's no coming back"_.

The delightful Blu overlords, in a brilliant (or terrible, he couldn't tell) plan to reduce costs had not only restricted the use of the respawn to combat hours but as the name implied, set it up so lockdown locked _everything_ down. The girl couldn't respawn even if she wanted to.

He wasn't even sure if he could respawn either, he assumed the Blu base was fine but if their gas bombs had worked and respawn was locked down, he and his team had effectively killed, quite literally, the Red's entire starting line up. There was no fight to win, no combat hours anymore, at least until they'd gotten new mercenaries to fight.

He had staggered at the exact scale of what his team mates and him had 'achieved.' He figured the Reds probably would have done the same. But his stomach still turned with the feeling that his actions had finally actually had consequences. That was the trouble with this job, separating the fantasy of the 9 to 5 fight from the reality that there really was no coming back when it actually happened.

And so as he thought, staring absent-mindedly at her profile, the stakes had been raised. He felt that his mercy, that would get him grilled, quite literally, by all his teammates was justified. He was young enough to hope that he could still be capable of doing something good; even if it seemed like nothing to some and betrayal to others. Of course it was becoming increasingly apparent that there was more to his mercy than just an honorable conscience. He grimaced, slapping himself, physically this time. She wasn't even pretty! He scowled, continuing to stare at her profile as she absently searched cupboards. For starters her nose was far to crooked to be considered attractive. Her mouth was too wide and her ears too big! And he highly doubted she would consider his considerate sparing of her life to be something to be praised. More like a sign of weakness, which would inevitably be the popular opinion.

"What are you lookin at?" Of course she had the most unattractive mouth and manners, and she was always being so mean to him.

"Hey!" A can flew close to his head and he started out of his musings realizing she had turned to him, waiting for the explanation with a raised eyebrow and another can bouncing menacingly in her hand. She was still staring at him with that 'tell me or pain' look on her face. He figured he'd better answer.

"Nothin' just lookin', " he made a 'so what' face, she tittered and scoffed.

"Just lookin'" she repeated scornfully, mumbling something about illegitimate offspring. She cracked open a can of baked beans with a distinctive pop. He couldn't help notice her cheeks were bright red. Somewhere inside his chest he felt his heart tighten.

"Do I need ya permission to look at you ya majesty?" He stood up and stretched his arms above his head, trying to distract himself from the irritating sensation. "Cause believe me, it's not like it's anything special." She sniffed in indignation.

"I'm sorry Thomas," she emphasized his name making him feel like a child. "It's just the look of pathetic longing in your eyes was making me curious." She poured the can into a pot over the gas flame. He curled his lip, half annoyed and half elated.

"If there was any longing involved, it was me wishing you'd catch alight from the flame." He strutted over to the counter, leaning on it with one hand cupping his chin. He looked at her, gauging her reaction. She glanced back at him, slightly amused by his obvious attempt at riling her up, and scoffed.

"Oh I see," she turned to him. "So it wasn't because you're hopelessly in love with me then?"

He let out a sharp laugh but annoyingly felt his ears burn. She grinned and waited.

"I think them beans must have some kinda delusional mix in them." His voice rose as he adjusted his position. "Or ya just naturally a moron."

"Oh really," she pointed a spoon at him. "Because your ears say otherwise."

Damn. He let out a breath as she laughed. "I'm not surprised you know, I am irresistible." It was his turn to scoff.

"Jesus ya dumbass, I'v seen wild rabid dogs that are better lookin than you," her smile dropped and she glared at him. He grinned. "Hey don't get so angry I was only half truthin'" There was a pause. "They weren't wild." She couldn't help but laugh a little, and it made him smile somewhat.

"I see," she turned back to the stovetop and he stepped round into the kitchen. "Well at least I have a better vocabulary than a dog." She was deliberately setting him up he knew, but hell, this was the most interesting thing that had happened to him since Mr Tibbles threw up on his shoe.

"Ah see now there, ya are delusional!" He leant against the bench next to the stove, facing her. "God knows ma mom would make ya eat a bar of soap if she heard you speakin'" He stretched again. "My brother's a sailor and he'd be shocked at the crap that comes from ya mouth." He picked up a can beside him on the bench and juggled it.

"Well I guess we're even then," he looked at her curiously.

"What do ya mean?" She waved her spoon and explained.

"Well I'm as ugly as sin and have a mouth like a drunken sailor," She paused. "And you're an uneducated brat with a napoleon complex. Even." He furrowed his brow.

"I went to school ya dumbass, leant ma times tables and everything!" He pointed a finger at her. "And what do ya mean _napoleon complex?_"

"I mean all that attitude has got to be compensating for something," she glanced at him, her eyes flickered to his trousers and she grinned. "Which you would have known if you'd actually listened in school" He huffed in annoyance.

"Contrary to what ya think of me mizz sniper, I actually know what a _napoleon complex _is and it's got ta do with height not tha business." He smirked as she eyed him, a mixture of disbelief and admiration in her eyes.

"Where the hell did you learn that?" He sniffed.

"School, dumbass," he poked her and reached for the can opener. "Which you would have known if you actually gave me a chance." He felt a sense of self importance as he eyed her surprised face turn into a impressed smile. His heart tightened again.

"Well, I have been outwitted, Touché." He grinned with a sense of pride.

"Yeah, and don't you forget it!" He placed the can and the opener on the bench and pushed it along. "Now make me some beans ugly."

She looked at the can then pushed it back toward him.

"Make ya own damn beans smartass."

* * *

The argument that she'd had any sleep was laughable in her opinion. Not only had she gotten about 1 hour at best but it had also been punctuated noisily by the loudest snoring this side of the equator. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she served up her beans into a cracked off white plate. '_Napoleon complex _is and it's got ta do with height' Where had that come from? She hadn't even thought he'd know who Napoleon was, let alone the complex or any kind of detail. Well, she thought, seems he was cleverer than she gave him credit for. It reminded her that reallyshe could never quite figure out what he was playing at, no matter what she liked to believe about him. Her face fell as she turned away from him mimicking her stirring movements on the stovetop. This was going to be more difficult than she'd anticipated. Still as per her first plan she was determined to stay patient and wait.

The call from the administrator had been not so much of a surprise but a harsh reminder that, yes indeed she was watching everything. And that Iz was actually being paid to not get into truce situations like the present one. 6 years and she managed to avoid such nuisances, what had changed? Surely she wasn't getting soft in her old age?

She had no doubts that he had probably been ordered to kill her by his own higher-ups. It was a given, but somehow she got the feeling that he was not actually planning to do anything. Either that or he was an extremely good actor. She was naturally sullen and sarcastic so being nervous about planning to take him out would not come across as suspicious behavior. But he, he seemed far too energetic and _youthful_ to successfully hide the emotions she was feeling. She had examined him for any indications of foul play but he seemed…normal. Well he seemed the same as he had been these past few days, friendlier yes but the same arrogant childish behavior. Either that or he was a sociopath. Probably a sociopath she mused. She have to watch her back, aside from just being generally paranoid she didn't believe for a second that he was above breaking his word and neither was she, with the right amount of motivation. Besides it wasn't as if they'd developed some kind of _relationship_ as the administrator had so loathingly put it. Sure he was probably the nicest Blu she'd ever met but that didn't mean anything. He was also the first Blu she had not killed on sight. Literally. All of it meant nothing. How could it? Nobody could be trusted in her line of work, even when they seemed to be holding their promises.

The trick would be finding a moment to kill him without him getting an indication of what she was about to do. Not such a big problem, this was a trained mercenary she was talking about but not an _experienced_ trained mercenary. She had years on him in all senses of the phrase. Doubtless he was used to moving to quickly to adequately watch his back. She turned and watched him stirring out of the corner of her eye.

It was a shame though.

She was actually, and she'd never though she'd ever even think this, enjoying his company to a certain extent. Sure she didn't trust him one little bit but he was the first person she'd met in this line of work who genuinely made her smile, if not just for his stupidity. H was certainly getting her to talk more than she'd thought possible. There was something about him that made him very difficult to ignore; he was certainly more multi faceted than her own scout, who was solely interested in bashing heads and lewdly pouring over sexy magazines. He was a year or so older than the Red's chatterbox but he was still very young. Perhaps it was the opposite team factor that gave him another element, their relationship was not built on being comrades, but by being enemies. Getting to know a comrade was a distraction in duty, getting to know an enemy was useful for learning how they tick and how to get rid of them. As long as you didn't get to close and actually start caring about them. Which is what you're doing. Her mind gently reminded her. Still, she wasn't getting attached to him if she didn't believe a damn word he was saying. Was she?

He was strangely magnetic she'd give him that; the allure of confidence was a draw card in every situation. She vaguely wondered if in her combined time spent on the Red base she had spent half the time talking to her comrades than she had him.

He was facing away from her as he said this. She was painfully aware of the large carving knife sitting in the draw to her right. She could sense the location of every potential weapon and it made her feel dizzy. How easy it would be just open that draw, grab that knife and slide it up, straight through his gut. This whole mess would be finished. She wouldn't be ridiculed for the weakness (which would inevitably stem from the fact that she was a woman), she wouldn't have to deal with Tom stirring up her mind and soul. She could take the easy way out. She moved her hand to the knob.

"Hey I was wondering," she jumped slightly as he whirled around excitedly. "Do ya reckon you could show me how ta make that chicken soup?" She paused, and looked at him blankly, her hand burning on the knob of the draw. There was a moment of silence. Tom's face fell slightly.

"What?" The look on his face sent an unfamiliar sense of shame through her body. She shook her head and pulled her hand close to her body as if she had been burnt.

"Err, nothing, just.. er" he shook his head and grabbed her hand pulling her more violently than she would like to the other side of the kitchen.

"It's cool, women, you know, whatever, anyway," he didn't let go of her hand. "Could you show me?" She looked down at the bench, at the array of guessed ingredients he had presented. But really her attention was back on a minute ago, she would have done it, the second her hand had touched that knife it would have been over for him. It was not arrogance talking; despite all her quirks she was hired for a reason and she was becoming painfully aware that as the days melded together Thomas was becoming increasingly friendly. Coupled with his blind youth and spirit she was beginning to wonder that the matter of libido was going to be the least of their troubles. She knew the dangers of misplaced attachment better than anyone; it could destroy a person so easily. And although she could truly say she cared very little for him, she would rather kill a person than put them through what she had gone through. Yet that was the issue, she found that she didn't want to kill him either. Her hand was now cold.

She was startled back into reality by Tom's rambling.

"Yeah so I got some stuff out, but I dunno, is it right?" She examined the ingredients, trying to relax her over exerted mind for just one minute.

"Ah yeah, just use the packet mix and those noodles with a bit of water, should be good." He looked at her in surprise.

"Oh, that's it then?" He looked back and picked up the two ingredients she'd picked out. "Pfft, that's easy!" Izobel smiled slightly.

"Even for you," she glanced at him sideways, he looked adorably affronted in his irksome way, his boyish face grinning widely.

"Hey, not fair ugly," he set abut fulfilling her instructions. "At least I'm making an effort." She turned from him and leant against the bench.

"Yeah," she sighed. "You are." Her mind whirled back to the knife in the draw, the radio message, and the knowledge that she would have to kill him without hope of respawn, eventually. It was inevitable and it was unheard of that she would even consider his life over her reputation.

"Are you okay ugly?" His voice, though surprisingly concerned and gentle grated on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. She slammed a hand down, not wanting to look at him.

"Yes I'm fine, just leave me alone." There was a pause, and she could tell he was debating with himself whether to push the matter. Much to her annoyance he spoke again.

"Well ma brother always said when a girl," he paused and flicked the stoke top on. "Sorry, woman, say nuthin's wrong, it means something's _always _wrong." She turned to look at him, and her heart almost stopped. His blue eyes were looking straight through her and the look of determined resolve in his eyes was almost unbearable. There was a long pause as the water boiled slowly on the stove.

"You got contacted too," it wasn't a question. Devoid of words Isobel said and did nothing but she knew despite all her prowess she could not hid what was written on her face. She couldn't understand why it pained her so much that it was. Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"You won't do it," he took a step towards her. "We have a truce and I know you're better than that."

"I will, and you should," the words came out with conviction, and easily.

"I would never, I promised." He grasped her by the shoulders. "You promised."

"You're too naïve," she pursed her lips and looked away. "You'd do well to remember our situation. One of us will die before we're let out."

"I won't do it, I'll change your mind."

"You won't"

"I will. I promise." His face was so close to hers now she could feel his breath on her nose. It was not a gesture of romance but rather determination. She shrugged out of his grip.

"You promise too easily," he looked at her for a minute, something akin to disappointment flashing across his eyes, the determination remained however. It was driving her insane. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Though what she wanted to say was; 'I'm sorry'.

* * *

Isobel had always loved the sound of the bush. Coming from a family of landowners and farmers it was only natural. The fresh air and general feeling of loneliness was sustenance through a long hard day. Life was hard and Izzie had had to learn all a man would learn to assist her father most days. And she didn't not mind because she found it suited her very well, she had even won prizes for shooting in the local fairs. It was something she prided herself on. She had often pondered secretly that she would like to joint the army if she could, she was not sure entirely why. Death and killing did not scare her, at least not now. Of course this was near impossible, not just because of gender but because of family obligation. More men were turning to the city these days rather than stick it out and farm. Isobel would be sorely torn if she were ever made to leave her favorite land in the world. But even then she was no exception; her parents had sent her to her cousins in Brisbane for a month that year. George and Molly were fashionable people with good hearts, a rarity in higher society. They lived close to the botanic gardens, not far from Alice Street, which was a great comfort to Izzie as she missed the bush dearly. Molly seemed determined to turn her into a city slicker but Izzie knew her home would always be in solitude out in the outback. These gardens were nice but did not compare.

The sound laughing children run up beside the river bank made the 22 year old turn to face the sound. She grinned as her cousins and their children stepped up beside her.

"Off with the bush fairies again hey Iz?" She smacked George playfully

"How was Harry?" George rolled his eyes.

"The same," he turned to his wife. "I don't know why we go so often, he's just a tortoise." Molly patted his arm, eyeing the children.

"The children love him George, and it's a bit of fresh air," she turned to her cousin. I daresay Isobel was most grateful for the air." Izzie nodded.

"Oh yes," she nodded. "It was great to get out. Of course it will never be the bush." She smiled.

"Indeed no!" The party turned at the voice. A grin spread across George's face.

"Paul! How are you mate?" The men embraced each other warmly. The taller man, this 'Paul' kissed Molly's cheek then turned to Izzie

He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight and his dark eyes smiled as he offered his hand. She shook it. George spoke up.

"Paul, this is our dear cousin, Isobel Jones." Pauls brows raised.

"Jones? As in the landowners?" Izzie nodded, her heart beating wildly, like never before. "Well Miss Jones, I certainly agree with you on matters of the outback."

"Izzie please," she smiled at the man. "You like the bush?" Paul smiled at her.

"There is no place I would rather be."

And she was smitten.

* * *

A/N

So I guess anyone who's been actually following the story will want to kill me and I TOTALLY understand, I would too. About a YEAR since the last update I think? There are no excuses. Well nothing that would stand up in court. Basically I started a new study majoring in Video game art and development, which is super cool. The main reason why this has taken so long is that I just didn't have any inspiration! It sounds so lame but there you go. As a result I fully understand it you guys give up on this because I honestly can't tell you when I will update next. But I have **not given up** on this story, I just have other things to do at the moment sadly.

In any case I am enjoying where it is going, although it is certainly a lot different to what I first intended.

And I feel It fair that I should warn you all that the way the story is going in my mind is that it will defiantly not be a totally neat, happy ending, or even at best, a totally resolved ending. But that's just the way it's going I feel. There is waaay too much shit on both sides for it to be an option in this story (have you noticed how batshit messed up Iz is yet? Lol). It will, however, be an interesting ride.

Also I have revised the earlier chapters so I think it would be worth a re-read (especially since none of your will likely remember what the story's about anyway.) The biggest change is I have aged Iz again she is now 36. I like to think of it as a maturing of myself as well rather as when I began the story I had much a narrow view of how relationships could work. As in the girl cant be too much older and gender roles etcetera. You know. I hope this comes through and the story seems a lot deeper.

Please review

**Reviewer question! What's your favourite weapon/hat/misc item that you own?**


End file.
